Many such-like Liberties of Sin

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Enter DROMIO of Ephesus

Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS
Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach having broke your fast;
But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray
Are penitent for your default to-day.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

DROMIO OF EPHESUS
O,--sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

A fog is rolling in, despite the glorious summer weather that has cleared since the joke of a rainstorm we had yestermorning. The WASP sits obediently at the harbour dock anon, the yellow hose pumping it full of fuel that shall drive it to its next port of call. The cars traverse to and fro across the bridge, and I wonder at the freedom of thought that could put me on a bus this afternoon, drive across that bridge, and on to varied horizons. It is well, perhaps, that the airline of choice flies not to England, or my returns there would grow tedious as opposed to glorious.

Late arriving to work again on this little Friday, a wonderful perk of the current occupation that we can float as such underneath the radar. "The freedom is unparalleled and invaluable," exclaims a co-worker who chooses words I would not to supremely make my long-held point. Although the seagulls out my window make a mockery of this supposed freedom, to be fair.

There was a Portuguese explorer named João Álvares Fagundes who tried (and apparently failed) to establish a colony in Nova Scotia between 1521 and 1525 "but little else is known". I like that he tried to name St. Pierre and Miquelon the islands of Eleven Thousand Virgins. I found the small plaque embedded in the waterfront honouring our man Fagundes last night and I think next time someone asks me about a historical figure I'd like to have dinner with, I'll reference him and seem bizarrely interesting.

What else? as Barrat used to say. I feel we haven't really spoken for ages. The fog has now covered the bridge and the forecasted thundershowers are threatening the softball this evening. The darkness is spreading. The General Way Forward is unclear. The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting. The shimmering and salty ocean is asking me when I will foresake all and leap wholeheartedly into her embrace. Bubbles float mysteriously upward. I waste time, time wastes me, but one fine morning in less than 700 days, I will once again fly away. And this time for real. Latiores, Fines, Petimus. Who ever knew that would prove so accurate and concise advise and admonition on living life right. The Saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.