So there I was driving to the pool in some David Lynchian set piece where all the world was rolling by in slow-motion, widescreen, technicolor bliss while in my mind a berserker was setting villages alight. That’s what happens in my crazy head. I don’t steam, sulk, stew or pout. I let let vikings rampage in the dark forests of my mind while outwardly I talk about the weather and the price of fuel.

I couldn’t help thinking about Bill Murray in Ground Hog Day with Punxsutawney Phil sitting in his lap as they flew through the un-named rural streets of Pennsylvania. There I was in my Acuta thinking, “Don’t Roll Angry Now, Don’t Roll Angry!”. Next thing I know I’m stick rolling the boat from one end of the pool to the other. In those moments I learned you can suddenly be happy and nauseous at the same time.

Getting rid of that big paddle and just rolling and rolling, and rolling, is like a religious meditation, a sexual release, like doing one of those things people did in the 60s before they discovered it was irresponsible, unhealthy, immoral . . . and fun. For those of us of higher moral fiber it’s like Novocaine. On this day when my head was busy dining on ashes, Novocaine was exactly what it felt like. And exactly what I was begging for. . .