The sunset made me do it...

I just don't understand how life works. At least one time this week I've felt alone, but for some reason, it seems to work itself out.
 
Going to work early this morning really set a poor mood for the day. I just didn't want to be there, and work is just difficult to deal with in itself, especially being a writer. When I got home, I got to work on the article with a Sunday deadline. I came up empty-handed for about an hour, so I took a walk, a long walk.
 
I came back to my apartment only to get a glimpse of man in his most vulnerable form; laying in his warm bed, naked and exposed, and better yet, asleep. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long time.
 
After I cooled down for a bit, sources began to return phone calls from earlier in the day, as if the Universe knew that I needed a break, but it was time to get to work.
 
I had just finished my research when he left me, headed for the bookstore. I will not see him until 4:30 a.m. Saturday, or so.
 
I decided to have lunch, or a small substitute for it, and do some yoga, but after stretching I felt that I was prepared to do something. For some reason I was supposed to eat and stretch to get ready for some activity that only the world had advance of. 
 
The trash desperately needed to be taken out, so I reached into a drawer to retrieve a liner or two and a coupon for a free bucket of range balls was next to the trash bags. Just last night I had picked up my violin for the first time since the Los Angeles show, and now I had the urge to get my golf clubs out, which had been more useful as a coat rack for the past six months.
 
I changed clothes and loaded the Rhonda (my car). I drove Rhonda to the driving range and prepared. I was incredibly nervous, so I decided to make friends with some surrounding golfers.  I grabbed my (golf) balls, headed for the range, assimilated into the crowd of hopeful semi-athletes, and began to practice a game that for four years, about fours years ago, was almost an obsession.
 
As I finished, I was thinking of the one who woefully departed earlier in the evening, so I broke down camp and headed for the Rhonda. As I was driving to his workplace, I saw the sky as one of those dramatic Southwest cowboy paintings.  There were remnants of the turquoise midday horizon scattered above me interlaced with streaks of pink-orange clouds.  If the calm blue sky was God's gazing pond, then I was musing on His moment of deepest contemplation in which He stroked the still surface of the pool, leaving bright neon ripples and memories in the sky.