I became restless some time ago. I got in the car and thought of riding around, but wound up at Commissioner's Park, sitting in the car over-looking the walking track and the highway.

When I had left the house, I was nearly suffocating. These walls were closing in. Loretta had claimed the living room. I was generally lost and aching and wanting to escape. So I went where I could think.

I did very little thinking, actually. Mostly I just watched. A few wayward thoughts drifted through my mind, but nothing very cohesive. Still ... a certain resolve has centered itself. I feel and understand things. I think I know now how to proceed.

Simply put, I should work first at getting my bass rig together, with which I should get back into playing. That would help augment my income and make it easier to survive on my own, when I do actually manage to get out there.

And once these things are accomplished, both returning to the music scene and attaining independence, I should simply work towards whatever dream I desire. I should write. And I should submit. And perhaps, in time, things will work as they should. If I can sell some stories or some poetry ... if I can sell anything, then I could buy equipment to record with. If not, I would be alone and in solitude, to do as I pleased, and that would be enough to make me fuller, if not whole.

And, hopefully, one day soon, things might work out so that I can return to St. Augustine. Oddly enough, right now I seem to want that more than anything in the world. I would love to live in Florida again. And maybe even I could make enough money in my aspirations to attain a beach front home.

That would be beautiful.