Thursday, September 18, 2014

Rain. Lots and lots of rain.

It’s wonderful.

Over coffee this morning – which was late from sleeping in – I began wondering what to write about this day. So, I started looking.

I thought about doing a piece on the eye doctor, who, yesterday, told me she enjoyed my visits because after a day of dealing with patients she couldn’t really help, I cheered her up.

I thought to tell her the truth: When it comes to people, Doctors are a thing of last resort. People respect Doctors and appreciate them, but they are the last things\s in the world people want to ssee. And in some cases would rather die than do so.

But I didn’t. I told her a small joke and got on with it. I couldn’t think of a way to explain rthat altruistic doctors that die of the patients illness and flagellate themselves for a patients death are a waste of energy.

I also read Dear Abby. One can see that I was grasping at straws this morning. That comes from all the sugar in the breakfast food, I suppose. I’m hyper. Dear Abby gets some of the damnedist letters.

I couldn’t do that job. Couldn’t.

One lady was complaining about her fathers ashes being mistreated. She really had a thing with the mistreater, you know. Mis directed emotions. About like so many of the politically correct that find their causes in other peoples endeavors.

I haven’t found a real topic for the day, however. I’ll just find a plate of Bon Bons and potato chips and pig out. It is after noon, you know. Five PM doesn’t apply for non-alcoholic comfort food and drink.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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