Wednesday, March 19, 2014

A Day Not A Vacation

I took my break in the middle of the night and I went to Duval Street to see what the crowds looked like, hoping the Spring Break fever was finally breaking. The crowds didn't look that big to me, but Saint Paul's looked good so I took a picture of that.

Police officers have some strange innate capacity for work, and they can do without sleep it seems and work longer hours than any civilian I know. I may work for the police but I need my sleep and I need to get away from work and that's hard to do in a Spring Break month. Yesterday I screwed up my post until GarytheTourist got in touch and asked what's wrong. Spell check doesn't seem to work as well for me when I am in a work haze. I have been sleeping but I have not been getting enough time away from the 911 center. So I'm feeling sorry for myself. Sue me.

Actually it's been lovely having Cheyenne to myself when I get home first thing in the morning. She hops into the car like a puppy. The sun is barely rising by the time we hit her walks around 6:45am and for a little while in the dark we wander here and there while she wakes up and I wind down.

I find it not a little ironic that I walk my dog loaded with plastic bags while just a few hours prior I was taking a call from some poor dog walker in Old Town who got back to his front gate to find some drunken twat defecating liberally and liquidly all over the sidewalk. The dog walker was mad as a we then not surprisingly and the defectator ended up in handcuffs. Stuff like this makes me wonder if the prohibitionists weren't right. Alcohol has some really bad side effects.

Meanwhile Cheyenne and I were 38 miles away at Veterans Park alone with a full array of facilities should anyone be taken short.

It is lovely on the water's edge at dawn in your shirt sleeves with nothing much to think about.

I am endlessly fascinating to my dog. Mind you I take enough pictures of her...

If you can't get rid of it, turn it into a tourist attraction, or a piece of public art.

The Cuban chug has become slightly more permanent each visit. Now it has a sign telling you to bugger off in no uncertain terms. Creative use of a road sign.

We had sniffed everything of value out if the little park, Cheyenne and I. Time to go home to bed and leave the beach to intrepid swimmers from Up North.

Spring Break has been unusually aggravating this year because in the recent bout of construction Key West has lost hundreds of cheap(er) hotel rooms and I'm told lots of a Spring Breakers have sought cheaper shared accommodations in Marathon creating daily lines of traffic waddling back and forth at ten under the speed limit. Add to that endless construction to install 200 million dollars worth of sewer infrastructure and I am looking forward to a not too distant future where everything reverts to normal and all this orange stuff goes somewhere else.

More like this, on the Bahia Honda Bridge:

Sleep, lunch, exercise, brief afternoon walk and then it's time to say goodbye to Cheyenne and head back to Key West for another night of intractable drunkeness outside while we try to keep a lid on it from the inside.

Keith said he wanted to order dinner from Kennedy Cafe which plan I resisted for a while. Then my wife sent me an email saying she got an award from the district for being a good teacher, which she is actually, and so I had an excuse to celebrate. I really do like their lamb donner, a sandwich made with Uzbek bread and a creamy sour cream and dill sauce. Keith has their rather boring turkey dinner; why I don't know.

Plus they deliver. I love my job. I get to sit in comfort, or stand as I choose, I don't have to meet or touch anyone and I share the room with two other people with odd senses of humor. Plus Key West has some tasty exotic food.

And thus endeth the cycle. Not exactly like a vacation. But then there are the days off...