I realized something fairly disturbing today. I was in the restroom at the pier, and I was feverishly pulling on my wetsuit like a starved maniac, just a mess, because I just could not get out in the water fast enough. Is there a SA out there, like they have for alcoholics? I can't seem to get enough, and it is just relentless. I thought by now, I would surely have lost this severe desire to surf, surf, surf. Even after everyday, I still can't get enough. Today when I got out there, it was pretty amazingly picture perfect. It was small, yes, but the wind was perfect, out of the WSW, and just grooming the little peelers into something out of a dream. There were only three guys out by 16th street, and I saw a peak in between them and the pier and paddled out to it. There was a long wait in between sets, but when the waves came, they were gorgeous. My first one just walled up and tapered off all the way to the beach. I was so high from that, and then a left did the same thing moments later. I did not want to go into work today, but I promised I would be there at noon. I was peddling my bike frantically as the downtown church bells rang out, eleven, twelve! I made it without a minute to spare. And, then, just as I thought I was relieving Karen so she could get out there, Sherry dropped the bomb that it was she who was leaving, not Karen. That was when I knew. Karen is a much bigger and more sane person than I am. She did not break down and lose it. She kept on working, and after only one expletive. I kept promising her that when she got off at 3 pm, the tide would be coming in, and she would get it good. God, I hope I was right about that one.