I think it is Monday. Its been rainy and gray, the whole live long day – yeah, I know. Cheap swipe.
Anyhow. They caught the dude that raped the 100 hundred year old woman.
And they’ve ID’d the body they pulled out of the drain/over flow ditch around Wichita.
And I cannot shake the day dream of being the stud to three beautiful women and being the kahuna of a small potato farm in Idaho who has the effect of good over evil, but is suicidal over honesty.
The re-occurring fantasy is bothering me because it comes to the surface as so many short stories I’ve written. As an almost completed story, leaving me few sentences to polish and then send off to be published. Kind of like whole chicken where I only have to pull a few pin feathers.
I’m not certain whether I should lay off he potato chips or write the story as it appears in my flights of other worldliness. It is a rather neat story and has come back over time in several forms (a hero, three goddesses, four very big dogs that claim not to be wolves, a successful potato farm and inventions of toys of out world capabilities).
Awesome day dreams.
I not sure I’d care to have everyone understand how demented and deprived I am.
Still . . . Halloween does loom.
From the reaches,