Two days ago, sometime in the morning, I was sitting on the toilet where I often do most of my most profound thinking --- also in the shower, driving, and sleeping. This mind will not stay still which is why I resist bathing, am troubled with a distended bladder, disturbed sleep, siphon my meager savings toward automobile repair, and fart a lot. And I thought of the article Garth sent me. Of course his real name isn't Garth; he's a financial whizz with an online presence, twenty-two years younger than I am, and he's got the sweetest pair of spreading balls I've ever seen or sucked.
The title of the article was "The Thrill is Gone." Something about aging and the related emotional levelling off. I thought about that for a while and reached a grand realization two days ago after releasing a four-hour span of accumulated urine.
Later in the day, after supper, I spoke to Lisa my cool daughter who lives in the main floor unit of this ninety-six years old Victorian house.
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Writers lead such solitary lives. Please feel free to drop me a line or two.