write?

What to write on a cold and juicy day? Low 30's and drizzly outside. Lazy and full of dog snoozing inside. No snow to look at. No ice to fear. No sun to see. Blankets and couches. Beds and blankets. Dogs sleep. Cat sleeps. Grey. Gray. Grey. Gray. A blog sits at the crossroads once again, inactively searching for an identity. Maybe the search is the identity. No, that doesn't sound like something I'd be into.

I went to the beach the other day. My office is ten minutes away from there but I haven't seen the water in months. Many months. It was cool and crisp with a nice stiff wind. I walked a bit. Looking at shells and sand and other oceanic bric-a-brac. I sat for a bit and listened to the waves crash. It was a gentle surf. The sea was melancholy that day, my friends. I woman walked by with a dog. The dog stopped several times to bark at me. He looked like Maggie. It was good natured barking. He didn't bark at anyone else. Another dog went by without incident. There were two guys out on the water (the 48 degree water). They were standing on surfboards and paddling around. Probably a nice relaxing time for them. If it were me out there I would have been in a full body spasm of fear, panic and anxiety. Also, the odds are pretty slim that I'll ever don a wetsuit. A small man's wetsuit.

A thin mist of some form of precipitation continues to fall outside beyond our double-paned windows. My stomach hurts. The dogs want dinner. The dogs always want dinner. Soon, I'll want dinner too.