I walked up to the tideline and that was invitation enough. The ocean under cloud cover, no sun-spikes to pierce it with light, murky, choppy, hiding its contents. The water came in the way it soaks paper, a flat wave that spreads from the inside. This walk on the beach was supposed to help. The canonical relaxing thing. I wanted to bring calm home. Instead, I brought the water. It churns cold and heavy as I lie on the couch waiting for Monday, the Sunday blues. Monday I will pile emails on it and they will float on the surface, I will cover it with conference calls and chatter about the weather. And thank god for the weather, because what else would we talk about? The water? Okay.