Sunday (two days ago now) I went to the beach — Pacific Beach north of Crystal Pier. The bodysurfing was really choice. There were powerful waves, which propelled even my significant girth well. One thing though, about Sunday. Things were easygoing. In the morning, through the afternoon, I relaxed, did housework, made phone calls, listened to music and a book on tape (Elmore Leonard’s “The Moonshine War”). After all that, I went to the beach. But when I got home I got hit by this wave of despair. The apartment seemed so empty — empty because of my failures, empty because of my idiocy — and I was overcome with it for a long while. Despite having had this really great day, the emptiness still creeps up on me. But the thing is, I knew it was not permanent. I knew that this was a strong wave that might knock me down for a while, but that I’d get up again. There’s a saying about getting back on the horse, and I suppose that’s apt. I’m trying to live my life, and sometimes it’s going to include despair. But sometimes it contains high adventure, and family warmth, and the comfort of friendship. This is life. I’m moving on.