Sixty miles or more: Daytona Beach, Lakeland and Cape Canaveral are less than sixty miles from our house. If you drive to Gainseville, sixy miles, and you are already half way there. That is what we rode last weekend. Thirty miles on Saturday and another thirty on Sunday. I would like to increase that to eighty, but I think we should take it a little slower for now. We woke later than I would have liked on Saturday, and as a result, my face burned a little. Before you yell at me, I wore sunscreen. But, my nose was runny and I kept wiping the sweat away. Even the best sun screen can’t hold up to that. On Sunday we met Frankie at Chucks for another ride. It took a lot to get me up that morning. I had a manic snap, didn’t take my meds and got a whopping 4 hours of sleep. But I am very glad I woke up. The weather cooled a bit. I don’t know that it got above 85, and it felt cool, even in the sun. The tricky thing about the West Orange Trail is the wind. D told me it was probably a case of the air and land heating up halfway through our ride, but the damn wind always seems to shift so that it’s a direct headwind, or it slows you down by blowing you sideways. My legs felt fine this time. I am pushing myself to get faster. It was more than a little amused at watching Frankie try to catch up to D. He burned out pretty hard at the end, but I think he had a good time. We had a quick lunch when we finished and D and I headed home. Not bad for a couple of slackers.

Sunday Prayers: Some people find divinity in their churches or scriptures. Others find their spirituality in meditative practices and the teachings of wise men. I find that kind of peace in the natural world. I am a pagan. I could be considered Wiccan, but I am such a slack ass motherfucker when it comes to religion. And even Wicca feels too structured sometimes. So, it’s best to say that I am a lover of the trees and the flowers and all of the creatures on the earth (cockroaches don’t count. I am pretty sure they are an alien race sent here to kill us all. In the name of humanity – those bitches need to die!). I live by the wiccan crede as much as possible “Bide the Wiccan Law ye must, In perfect love and perfect trust. Eight words the Wiccan rede fulfill: An’ ye harm none, do what ye will. What ye send forth comes back to three. Follow this with mind and heart, merry ye meet and merry ye part.” What does all of that mean? Be nice and groovy and don’t give anyone the shaft and any nastiness or good will come back to you. Although, I would like to state for the record that it oftentimes comes back as something you need rather than something you want. So, back to the biking. When I am riding through a shadowed canopy of trees, through the developments that tore up vast plains of wild grass, and beyond the manicured green of the golf course, I find my Mother, my Father and all of the things I need to get me through. Sunday Prayers come from the back of my Precious. And nothing could make me happier. Except riding past people. I still have a huge ego and a competitive spirit, after all.

The death of the Widow: D and I started putting up Halloween decorations. I knew a spider lived in the corner of the porch, high up beyond my reach, and she stayed there for years. I’m not one to kill anything, except roaches (as stated before) and creatures that could harm my fuzzies. D thought the spider was a Black Widow. That made me sad. For two years that spider lived there and never harmed me. In fact, I never saw her come out of her little tunnel of a web, but we couldn’t have that kind of spider there, so D hosed her down. Her babies erupted from the web and she fell into a candle. D left her outside. We checked her species in the morning. She was not a black widow and I felt horrible.

Collared: Valentine. My lovely gray beast has a taste for the outdoors. He’s escaped through cracked doors and unlatched windows a number of times and managed to get dirty, pissy, and wormy (He had to go to the vet and I savored my revenge when they poked him with the needle). If he gets out and someone sees him, I want them to know that he’s a part of someone’s family. How did I do this? A collar. A blue reflective collar. Val is Houdini and has always managed to wriggle and slither out of any collar we managed to get on his skinny neck. This time, I am successful. I smile a little when I walk around him and see that little reflective material wink at me. He has tried scratching, licking and contorting his back legs in an attempt to get out of it. But, I’ve won. Huzzah! We put one on Voodoo too. That poor little bastard is so trusting that he comes when I call. I put the collar on him as well. He didn’t react at first, but then he started walking backwards with is head down. He looked like he was trying to get his head out of something and he did this for a long time. At first it was funny, but I felt bad for the little critter. He’s fine now, walking forwards and still running across the house when I whistle. I have to say, he looks better in his new collar than Val. Black and reflecto-material go well together.

School: I am drowning. There’s really nothing more to say about that. I am burnt the fuck out.

There is more that could and should be said, but I need to cut this short so I can get back to being a data-monkey. A reminder to all that read this: Punkin Party on the 27^th. Happy Wednesday.