Sometimes, it feels like living on an ice floe.

Chunks keep breaking off, some small but some big. And it's all melting, as floes go.

But you stay on the floe because -- well, what's the option?

I had a couple big chunks break off early last week and decided to rest from a number of activities, including this blog.

I am better because I must be. I have to be a distant father to my brilliant kid. I have to be friends with those strewn across the country. I need to find a job because I have things to say and do.

Press on despite the anger and pain and sheer exhaustion. Yes, one can be exhausted when one has no job. I'd rather wake up facing a 14-hour day than greet the morning with nothing real to do.

 So I didn't do anything for a week. Oh, I read and read and read and ate and had some beers with friends on Sunday. I talked to my kid a bunch of times. Many times I just stared at the swaying trees at The Hermitage, where I'm staying.

Please do not feel sorry for me. I am warm when it's cool and cold when it's hot. I certainly have enough food to keep me fat. I can buy some cheap gin, so bad it will take paint off your car. To paraphrase George Bernard Shaw, gin is as mother's milk to me.

None of my luck means these aren't tough times. And vice versa.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Peace and decent gin unto all of you, my brothers and sisters.