This was perfection Ann!

---In, <awoelflebater@...> wrote :

 Startling awake Ann tries to move, can’t, begins to panic in a half dream 
state. Glancing painfully, slowly over to the glowing clock with pressure 
growing in her chest she wonders if this might be the last thing she sees - the 
clock illuminated at 3:15am. But suddenly, there is a small release of 
pressure, a moan and suddenly she realizes her four dogs surround her on the 
bedcovers,  one of them lying on her chest the others curled around her, 
hemming her in. With immense relief flowing into the place where fear had 
resided moments earlier she vows to make a trip to the pound first thing in the 
morning to see if she might find another little puppy soul in need of rescue - 
you can’t have too many dogs and the husband can find room on the guest bed if 
necessary. As it is, he’s in deep shit for all of those nudes he’s been 
snapping up in the studio above the barn. What, does he think - that she's 
blind? Those models are young and firm and beautiful - that’s it, she fumes- 
forget the guest bedroom, he can have the doghouse (yet to be built).

 3:15, 3:30, 4:00am and no sleep seems destined to return on this early morning 
so, in anticipation of catching Barry in some flagrant lie or odious posting, 
she leaps to her feet scattering the snoozing pooches, and heads to the office 
and her computer. With eager anticipation Ann studies the screen. FFL exists in 
her mind as that sacred place where she once again connected with her old cult 
leader Robin, and who she secretly yearns would allow her to once again sit at 
his feet and gaze up into his intriguing visage in order to hang on with 
adoration his every word. Those were the days, if only she could once more be 
back there with him, in the glow of his consciousness and his charisma. 

 But, Barry must never know this, no one must know this. Just like they must 
never realize that Ann is secretly planning on attending the Mother Divine 
course in Fairfield. They must never know that she channels Maharishi while 
seated in full lotus in front of her shrine to all things TM or that she offers 
healing sessions using lead-based body painting sessions while yodeling in 
Yiddish. All of it must remain a secret from her friends at FFL. Dwelling on 
this, she is unaware that the time has passed so quickly and now it is time to 
don her overalls and gum boots and head out to do the barn chores. As she picks 
up the pitch fork and scoops the first large poop pile she can find she sighs 
and is relieved no one knows the truth - she is only a poop picker- she has 
never sat on a real horse in her life. Oh, how we can create perfect lives via 
the internet and most of the time no one will ever find out the truth.


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