A few weeks into this New Me, and I am slowly readjusting my pace.  That is to say, I am quickly slowing my pace.  

I was vaguely disappointed to be reminded today that the beach nearest my house is in fact the dog beach.  I am no great fan of dog people, and as expected they tend to congregate at this, their assigned patch of sand.  The dismay faded soon enough as I realized that it was about noon on a Tuesday and I was lying on warm grass on my little grey blanket, reading a murder mystery. Later a sunburn would reveal itself on the backs of my calves and the inner edges of my forearms, but no bother.  

I think sometimes the hardest thing for me to do in this life is to let go of the prescriptions inked by the example of my parents. Hard work and responsibility, mixed together with a dash of modest living, will suit you just fine.  And while certainly I take no issue with any of the above, more and more I question my ability to slog away for hours upon hours in an office doing boring work that has neither direct impact on nor direct benefit for me.  Who’s to say that working on the mystery of why those drunk Mexicans congregate in the parking lot of the abandoned wholesale grocer is not an adequate use of my time?  I reckon it’s me.  

In the building of my boyfriend, there is a wireless network called “Fuckmountain.”