March 14: Punishment of Hunger, Power Down, Pigeons and Diamonds

Santiago rests . . . 

Now, he thought, I must think about the drag. It has its perils and its merits. I may lose so much line that I will lose him, if he makes his effort and the drag made by the oars is in place and the boat loses all her lightness. Her lightness prolongs both our suffering but it is my safety since he has great speed that he has never yet employed. No matter what passes I must gut the dolphin so he does not spoil and eat some of him to be strong.

Now I will rest an hour more and feel that he is solid and steady before I move back to the stern to do the work and make the decision. In the meantime I can see how he acts and if he shows any changes. The oars are a good trick; but it has reached the time to play for safety. He is much fish still and I saw that the hook was in the corner of his mouth and he has kept his mouth tight shut. The punishment of the hook is nothing. The punishment of hunger, and that he is against something that he does not comprehend, is everything. Rest now, old man, and let him work until your next duty comes.

He rested for what he believed to be two hours. The moon did not rise now until late and he had no way of judging the time. Nor was he really resting except comparatively. He was still bearing the pull of the fish across his shoulders but he placed his left hand on the gunwale of the bow and confided more and more of the resistance to the fish to the skiff itself.

Rest is important, no matter what the circumstance is.  

I used to be able to go for days on three or four hours of sleep a night.  Sometimes less.  I have always been a night owl.  Watching TV or reading until one or two in the morning.  Getting up at 5 a.m. to write and then go to work/teach.  Returning home, grading or writing some more.  Maybe leading a poetry workshop.  Staying up until one or two in the morning again,  Stumbling off to bed.  Rising and repeating.

Living like that is not sustainable, unless you want to end up having a stroke.  After maintaining that schedule for a couple weeks, my body pretty much lets me know that I need to power down and let my battery recharge.  It's not even a choice.  I literally can't do anything except sleep.

I am reaching that point right now.  By the end of this week, I will be needing to go into low power mode for a while.  Tonight, I hosted an event at the library.  One of my great writer friends just had his newest book come out in paperback.  So, he read for a few minutes from his book, and then we sat on a stage and had an hourlong conversation about pigeons and diamonds and writing and food and swearing.  

Going into the event, I felt brain dead.  However, as often happens, my reserve power supply kicked in, and I had a great time.  I was on pointe for two hours.  And then I went home and crashed on the couch.  Literally did not move for around three hours.

Thus, I am typing the post around 1 a.m. on March 15.  I feel revitalized a little, but I know I'm going to regret staying up to blog when I rise at 5:30 a.m. to drive my wife to work.

Saint Marty needs a vacation.  Or a distant unknown relative to die and leave me about 30 million in unmarked bills.