like a shark

No more heart lattes for me.  The barista is off to another state, beginning a new life.  She admits some nervousness, and regret.


"Everything I know here I won't use again," she says.


"But you have to move on," I say.  "Otherwise you're dead."


She laughs.  


"Like a shark," she says.  "Always keep moving."


Which is a pretty good model for me these past days.  But what's my prey?


First bite: The IRS.  Yes, the very same folks who have been hunting me since Rich's death with an alleged non-payment of something that requires no payment.  And now, with the added penalty, they expect a payment exceeding the GNP of Haiti.  


Ha ha.


Second bite: Sinking my teeth into my advice to others.  It's damn hard moving on. Everything I once had I won't, again, and can never be duplicated.  Something -- many things -- wonderful remain.  But this shark wants rest, she wants a map, she wants to taste the blood of a new life -- she is swimming in circles.


Third bite: Huh?  Sharks can't count beyond two.


Candace