sapped of common sense, i lassoed the dog and drifted up the path to cranelegs pond.
although embraced by death's hug, i thought foolishly that somehow it was a good idea.
get some fresh air—the mantra of a crazed woman i call ma.
standing on its bank, i stared into the glassy water, pondering a most important question.
the type of question one formulates when one's life is suddenly played before him in sony beta format.
why can't i cast caution to the stiff spring breeze?
why can't i quit this job that ills me so?
why not write these posts for a living?
yes, why not—yes, i can!
the dog pulled on the leash, having spotted a playful sunny just under the shallow water.
i thought hard (it's what comes naturally at the pond).
then it struck me.
no one would pay money to read them.
and i realized, therein lies the rub.
yes, i can't.
ah, cranelegs pond can be a cruel place on a gusty day.
a cold splash of straight talk for a dreamer.
i might just as well have asked mccain, or ma for that matter.
curse you cranelegs pond!
i tugged the dog off the curled, stiff carcass of the sunny who just a minute ago danced to my delight.
certainly an omen to the fate of my short lived aspiration.
i sauntered home, shoulders drooped, smiling in the face of hurt.
this was going to take more than chicken soup.