Is this what a fisherman feels when he’s hauled in his day’s catch, with the carp and the marlin salted on the floor of the skiff? When he brings his boat ashore and the others stare at his haul, does he feel pride for his catch? Or does he think that it’s all in a day’s work, and does he plan to go out the next day and bring in the same, so that he can support his family, or just himself? The fisherman doesn’t worry when the line leaves scars in his palms or slices open his skin, or when the fish pull him in circles for so long that he’s exhausted and bent. The fisherman doesn’t worry and he doesn’t complain. He just prepares his bait and baits his hooks and takes each day at a time, each hour and each minute and each second waiting for the telltale pull on the line.
I've been absent for quite a while recently, reading Hemingway and trying to work on a new novel. I still have to edit the draft manuscript of the last novel I'd been working on, but I think I need a break from that, time to let it marinate in my brain for a while. This new one is about a group of four friends who travel to Hungary together using the money that one friend inherited from her great grandmother's death. But one of the friends has a secret, and he has to tell the others before it's too late.
In other news, the May issue of The CPA Journal is complete and has been sent to the printers, so we should be getting that in at work any day now. Aside from work, I've been spending time with Todd. We're going to see a We Were Promised Jetpacks concert this weekend on our 1 year and 8 month-iversary. I'll post some music and pictures at a later date. And more about my longest relationship ever at a later date too. Suffice to say, I'm still incredibly happy with him. <3
To end this mini update, here's an interesting article I read in the New York Times this morning about abandoned silos in Kansas that have acted like incubators for trees and now dot the prairie.