The wind was blowing when I woke up on Friday, Good Friday, in a way that sucked my courage out, and I wondered about myself as I lay there.  Finally, I got up.  I had some tea.

Neither head nor body was feeling well, tired from the tree pollen.  I didn't feel like going to rent a car, I didn't feel like packing, I didn't feel like being up for the long drive.  At noon the wind quieted, but then it picked back up again.  I looked at the forecast.

Life takes bravery.  Jobs take bravery.  And here I am, writing, making myself more neurotic rather than less, doing a good job of not showing up.  "Oh, the years I've wasted.  Being a coward."

But it is a long drive.  And wind on the highway with the trucks in the mountains...  or maybe it is just that it is Good Friday.

You start to feel bad when you aren't working.  You feel like you are not protecting yourself, your own interests.  You feel foolish.  Fear and apprehension set in.  On top of the woozy head tree pollen feeling.  The fear of poverty and homelessness.

"Be a man," I'm sure my brother would say.  The wind stills, then returns with sudden blasts.