Playing the Waiting Game

I'm waiting to surf. That's all there is to it. I've been riding my bike, letting my shoulder get some rest (although I don't think riding helps all that much since your upper body weight is supported by your arms and shoulders). Right now, I'm hanging out at home with two of my three men. Soul Brother #1 is off riding his bike, putting his cycling-related Father's Day gifts to good use. Soul Brother, Jr. is hanging on my arm as I type and asking to sit in my lap. The dog—the third penis that lives in this house—is trying to find a place to nap without being stepped on or harrassed by Soul Brother, Jr. (When your gender is outnumbered by the other folks in your house, you tend to view the others by their common denominator. I am known for often saying that there are too many penises living in my house.) I am simply waiting. Tomorrow I'll get back in the water. What's been getting to me of late is Malibu. I've got Malibu on the brain. I've only been there on three occasions, but I have yet to get a handle on that wave. Now I feel compelled to go back, pay my dues, and figure it out. I will take a different board this time. When I got the Tyler, I was told I had to take it to Malibu. Well, I've done that. So far, I'm 0 for 3. The time has come to switch to something else. Once I get the wave figured out, I'll go back to the Tyler. I don't intend to go to Malibu tomorrow. But I may make an appearance later in the week.