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Get your wings out of my wine glass! 0

Dear Bradshaw,

            Here I am again = the end of another day. It’s dark outside and I’ve got the lights on inside and if you think about that for a second you might realize how wrong that is. God has turned the lights off outside so I turn them on inside, directly defying His master plan. Oh well, whatever, right? These things take care of themselves, do they not? For better or worse.

            I’m drinking wine but you know that already so I won’t go into it. Jimi’s sniffing the wine bottle, looking at my glass, and now she’s attacking her tail. How capricious cats are.

            So here’s the thing, Shaw, I’ve got nothing to say, nothing to write. The Muse is out to dinner this evening. Who knows? Maybe I need to drink more wine. There’s half a bottle left. There’s also a gnat on the rim of my glass. I could flick it or squash it, but should I? What would be the repercussions of such an action? After all, every thought, word and deed sends rippling vibrations through the universe and if they should happen to strike some outer cosmic barrier and bounce back, well, who knows what would happen.

            How lucky I am to have this pen in hand and a book to read (Gone with the Wind), to know that tonight I’ll sleep under warm covers in a soft bed with Francesca in my arms, and that tomorrow I’ll take a hot shower, to know that heaven is here, in my heart, and… hey, I can feel it beating.

            Okay, gnat. I’ll let you live. But get your wings out of my wine glass!

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