10/05/2015 PM

The sun has, as predicted, reigned supreme today, but alas, yet another blown-out day. This infernal onshore wind has only gained in strength and audacity, has even tufted up crests of whitewater throughout the previously quiet estuary, and rocks the hostel walls...Tilda is still dry and rolled up under my bed :(
A strange, gelatinous day. After an industrious (perhaps too early and too caffeinated) morning, Tim mentioned the idea of jet lag, and in doing so, conjured the demon and cast a spell on me, under which I collapsed shortly thereafter. After an unsuccessful attempt to nap, I spent the rest of the day in a bit of a stupor, wandering aimlessly up & down the causeway and around town, and floating around the hostel like a wayward dustbunny. Idle conversations ringing out like the bells of Victory against a lifetime of Shy, while the nod-smile-&-walk ons remind me I still have a long way to go out of Awkward.
I’m half way through “H is for Hawk”, and already despairing of its end…it is one of the finest books I have read in all memory.
Anyway, still soggy in both body and brain, I sit to write again, as evening begins to creep. I am enjoying this writing practice, but feel so rusty and ill-equipped - I am constantly wishing for more and different words. Keep reading, I tell myself - you're rusty at that too, and that’s where words come from.
It will be another early night, as hopeful as the last, with the promise of surfable swell, yoga, and connection on the morrow.