Why hello, faithful blog readers. I'm upstairs, in the green camping chair, under the full spectrum light. N pulled this chair upstairs a few weeks back and I salute his innovative tendencies because this camp chair fits the space well. I've been reading here, rather than in bed or on the floor, more often than not.

This week has been ok. I'm struggling with exhaustion/illness more than I'd like, three weeks after the wisdom teeth removal, and I can't seem to shake the recovery process. Not sure why. Yesterday I taught and by the end of the day my voice was gone and staff members were trying to send me home so I didn't die on the premises. Today, after twelve hours of sleep, I felt better. The boys and I hit Cabela's for a new net and Costco for mozzarella sticks although apparently Costco doesn't stock mozzarella sticks anymore so we settled for Nilla wafers. This afternoon I walked maybe five miles through the grey, forboding Wisconsin spring. Geese looked angry. And while the five miles wore me out more than they should I felt happy with the exertion. I tried to breathe and reframe the afternoon in a more positive light, and I 75% succeeded.

Tonight I think I'm starting Woodrell's Tomato Red. After 100+ pages from Bryson's book on houses I got bored with his meandering and I'm ready for something else.

Ok, I want to talk about suicide for a second. Don't be alarmed. I'm not going to off myself, not with the high quality drugs I can legally access, especially since I read the hydroxine label and discovered I can take two a night. Holy hell, I love that substance. When combined with Lunesta the trio of pills provide about a half hour of pharmaceutical bliss before I fall asleep. I want to take some right now but the hour is barely past six. That's ok. A couple hours. Anyway, back to suicide. Historically I've perceived suicide as a release valve, if you will, a way out if my existence became too painful or out of my personal control. And I doubt that'll ever change. But now, as I get older, I warily eye those who choose to end their lives with great empathy and a quiet understanding, like sighing air from my lungs and reaching across a table to someone I want to comfort. This has been on my mind, I think, because two people have killed themselves in downtown Port this winter. The first, a woman, leaped off the breakwater during a winter storm. The second shot himself on a bluff bench. I am not on that path. But I recognize the dead as speaking a language that I comprehend and never can unlearn. May their souls rest tonight.

T is watching Takers. He's in middle school, yes, with the worst movie tastes imaginable. I refuse to watch. Tomorrow the boys and I might hit the Imax for a film about the Hubble telescope. N is obsessed with space. Or we'll save the gas money and stay local. Not sure. I'm already bored with Easter break. Bring on the season's rebirth. Have a good Wednesday night.