I think I'm well afloat, just crusing in a sailboat with a steady income of western wind, depositing itself right into my wake where its advantage I take in full and spend it gently on the waves. But as I walked the deck of my great ship, I find the anchor drawn, the ride a bit lofty, and a tear in the sail. Behind me trails the treasures I've hunted for, dug for, carried away and plummaged for. Easy come, easier go. My crew of Ease and Calm have desserted me and left me with Nerves, whom I can't stand and whom also insists on following me everywhere. I try to put him to use but when I ask him to make steady the ship, he instead rocks it until I am sick. While I slept I thought I felt the summer breeze blow care-free dreams to me; but when I woke I arose to find no such breeze, only the shivering drought of a sinking ship and cried out "Mutiny!" from the dynamic duo, Self and Control. I'm on a lost island now, staring wistfully at a speck of gold still in reach. I'm hungry and tired and I ought to be doing things useful like building some protection or working for a way out of here, but instead I stand stupid, exhausted by the longing for a rescue and troubled by the treasures off the shore and out of reach. Tonight I might build a fire or write SOS out of sticks on the sand. Or maybe I'll just carve my initials on a tree; that way, when I am gone, someone just might remember me. Carrie