You forget how much you love the water until you go back into it. Even though it was utterly landlocked, Chapel Hill always found us in a boat, either in the verdant tree-overhangs of University Lake, or the obvious drowned forest of Jordan Lake. One way or another, we’d go fishing or tubing, or at the very least, steal away into a forbidden pool at another nameless apartment complex. We were in the water all the time.
It was this I remembered as our rowboat drifted from the silty edges of Rudd Pond; incongruously, it seemed funny that a place so far up in New England would have a name begging to be slurred by a Southern redneck. Try it yourself: “Rudd Pond.” It’s almost as bad as that street in Hoke County, NC called “Old Wire Road.”
Willis, Laurie and Neal try to navigate through the grasping lakeweed
I would have enjoyed it more; nay, verily I would have enjoyed the entire day more if I hadn’t felt like someone had hit me with the convex end of a shovel. Which segues perfectly into:
The Celextant, June 29, 2002
Upping the dosage of Celexa always brings on a bout of fatigue, but this particular episode turned from temporary guest into regular lodger. The fatigue I get in the late afternoon is unlike most I’ve known; it’s not a tiredness in the regular sense, but an innate lazy weariness that seems unaffected by rest. I mean, I feel like I could sleep for 11 hours and still bump into shit all day.
I’m hoping that this too will pass – most problems attached to the drug have – but meantime, I’m kinda wishing speed hadn’t proven to be such a killer, ‘cuz I could use some right about now.