Let me sit by the fire, and remember my days, and it may be a trick of the firelight, but the flickering pages that trouble my sight is a book I'm afraid to write. It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life, and it's for some reason cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife. And for whatever reason I'm afraid to write and reminesce, that I was once unaware, has become as clear as the waters of Bois D' Arc lake... ok, it's obvious that I don't need to make my living re-writing other's songs, but I thought the reference to a lake with a rather obvious turbidity problem was a rather fascinating twist. It's like saying, "as clear as mud." but not really, because I was talking about a lake that only local people would know about in hopes of adding some local flavor... because I was once told that it was good to do that, because... oh, nevermind... by now I would have asked Josh if he was still talking.
In getting back to this book of my life, I was merely looking for a creative way to bring up the fact that the one horse that occupies this town has died. It is my belief that I have exhausted all legal ways to entertain myself, and won't admit to dabbling in some less-than-reputable means involving ice cubes, a pitching wedge, and stray cats. (yes, I am joking... in the same sense that eRIc was joking about my dad accidentally shooting carap) I need another vacation, because I've only got a week left here, and then it's back to college for only one more semester. Then I have to grow up... so they tell me.
I wish I didn't have to pay taxes to the pulic P-ool. There's no way that water is clean. I'll stop rambling now,
Jeff C.
(simpson's guy voice: "Worst Post Ever!")
