I Get And Read An Enormous Number

As I Drift Back Into Sleep, I Can't Help Thinking That It's A Wonderful Thing To Be Right About The World. To Weigh The Evidence, Always Incomplete, And Correctly Intuit The Whole, To See The World In A Grain Of Sand, To Recognize Its Beauty, Its Simplicity, Its Truth. It's As Close As We Get To God In This Life, And Reside In The Glow Of Such Brief Flashes Of Understanding, Fully Awake, Sometimes For Two Or Three Seconds, At Peace With Our Existence. And Then Back To Sleep We Go.

He'd Discovered That His Memories Of That Summer Were Like Bad Movie Montages - Young Lovers Tossing A Frisbee In The Park, Sharing A Melting Ice-cream Cone, Bicycling Along The River, Laughing, Talking, Kissing, A Sappy Score Drowning Out The Dialogue Because The Screenwriter Had No Idea What These Two People Might Say To Each Other.

I Don't Think There's A Shortage Of Material In The World. Or In My Head. I Just Pray For Continued Good Health, Because I've Got Other Stories To Tell.

Go To It. Be Bold. Be True. Be Kind. Rotate Your Tires. Don't Drink So Much. There Aren't Going To Be Enough Liver Transplants To Go Around.

I Looked Back At Some Of My Earlier Published Stories With Genuine Horror And Remorse. I Got Thinking, How Many Extant Copies Might There Be, Who Owns Them, And Do They Keep Their Doors Locked?