Laughlin

I am spending today recovering; it seems that I have been go-go-go for weeks, and today I sit down with laptop, writing instruments, and a glass of water to set a stage or something.  I have witnessed two baseball games--one awful, one nail-biting--pushed and shoved two loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen, my bathroom, and my bedroom, and now I'm here, fresh out of excuses not to be.

So, in the spirit of Jamaica Kincaid, here is what I have been doing lately:

• Not sitting in trees or dreaming, two things I wish for;
• Working without a day missed until Friday, when I made my first trip to the doctor in 2 years.  The result?  I may have a thyroid issue that goes beyond the regular symptoms instead of having a thyroid issue and Crohn's.  I can only hope.  I received a tetanus shot, a lecture on my cholesterol ("you're too young for that medication"--it's your call, Doc), a thorough exam, and a dosage of birth control.  The thyroid meds followed yesterday.  To describe what it is like to be without health insurance and the proper medication for years and then rejoin the healthy was overwhelming this morning as I took a pill that will bring me back to vitality, focus, and, hopefully, dropping forty pounds;
• Work is back to going well...and I am learning to let it affect me less.  I'm shopping for a position 470 miles north of here, but learning all I can while I stay;
• The desert continues to master me.  I hate it.  I hate the sprawl that it has prompted.  I hate the conservatism, homicidal tendencies, and entitlement it provokes.  But one day last weekend, on a Sunday morning with my sister-in-law watching from the beach, I stepped from the sand of Laughlin, Nevada and into the coldest summer river in my history.  The water was clear, the current strong, and, at best, the temperature of it was about 60 degrees.  60 sounds fine, but in water temperature it feels like it possesses a windchill factor of 30.  I stood ankle-deep, waited for the ache to pass, waded to knee deep, waited for the ache to pass, drifted to waist deep, waited for the ache to pass, and then dunked down and up quickly.  It was like dunking in menthol, peppermint oil, snow, lightning, vodka...anything cold and stripping.  Eighteen months of dry, baking, desert sun and wind fled my soul.  Down and up, gasp, down and up.  Bless the mighty Colorado;
• My writing has been limited to miles of journaling, free-writing the novel, and what you see here;
• But I read like a M.F.-er.

The podcasts and a boss who loves words as much as I keeps me sharp.  Talking workforce management eight hours a day is a gift, writing for my love of it is a gift, and that river was a gift.  (Are all a baptism?  I guess there is redemption there.)  

One more thing should be noted about Laughlin:  I am normally not a gambler.  Gambling (as with most games, save baseball) bores me senseless and rattled.  But our first day in Laughlin I could feel something was up.  I dropped $5 in a machine to expel it from me and landed $120.  About six hours later I landed $40 on $5, and the next morning I tried to break the hundred dollar bill from the first win and pulled in another $30.  So, my gut instincts still have it.  I say this not to roll in riches (the money went to the doctor and pharmacist this week), but to say that I know, I can feel, that I will go home, not only as a goal, but as an unavoidable destination.

I wonder what it will be like the second time.  A gamble, again.

Onward, dear reader.