A Beach a Dog and a Dead Fish…


I seem to end up at the beach whenever I have an important decision to make. It’s the vastness, the limitlessness of the ocean that renders my travails a little bit more manageable…

I am overwhelmed at the moment by so many things, I don’t know whether to get another cup of coffee or sit in a chair and  laugh hysterically. I’m trying not to drink. I’m trying to find a place to live. I’m scheduling a trip to see my mother and the holidays are coming and I’m homeless and I keep eating sugar and Dee’s moving and my children need me and I keep leaving my suitcases on people’s porches in the rain and I can’t find my ______ (insert anything vital here – toothbrush, debit card, glasses, storage space key, rosary, passport…).

So yesterday I went to the beach with Fiona.


To be a dumb dog…

And the groovy loft space I was sure of in San Marco, suddenly seemed a bit too rudimentary. And everything got enormous like trying to chew and swallow a snail. So I jogged for a bit and gave Fiona water in a Tupperware bowl. But I wasn’t buying it. It wasn’t sinking in. And then we came upon a fish that had been bitten in half. But was still alive.

fishI swear I looked around for something to bash its head in, but the beach was as pristine and untouched as a new day.

Was it a symbol? The embodiment of God’s glory and cruelty in one bit of flotsam washed ashore for me to find? A reminder that my troubles are small in the grand scheme of things and that life is all?

Sometimes, a walk on the beach is not just a walk on the beach.

Today I’m not drinking because life is all?

How come you’re not drinking?