I met her once. We talked on the phone once too. It was years ago, before it occurred to me that social networks were temples to idolatry. In other words, before I realized they did nothing for me except improve my typing skills.

Of course that's pretty much all this place does for me, too. So I guess we're talking a pattern, here.

Today is one of those days where I can't figure out which direction the wind is coming from. An earlier walk suggested the west, if not the northwest. Yet was it warmer than I'd have expected from that direction, tempting me to call it a breeze instead of wind. You know.

Now leaves make it look more like it's out of the south, if not the southeast. That would be really odd for here. But I suppose nothing is impossible. Especially for women in a shoe store.

I wrote something halfway decent here on Monday, but didn't finish it. Thus does it sit as a "draft" that will likely never see the light of a Soulcast day. I lose interest in things pretty quickly. Some might call it ADD. I call it the absence of magic from having lost the innocence of not knowing how things work.

When I started writing it, I was in a magical state of imagining a woman named "Bonnie" who would be this petite, grey-haired widow not too much older than me, who would be magically available, and pretty well off, and of course she'd fancy me the way I occasionally wish Soulcast people would. And I had this wonderful scene where she discovers me pissing in a secluded place just off the beach. And so I called it "My Bonnie Lies Over the Sand Dune". Which title I'm still kind of patting myself on the back over.

But, see, I wasn't able to sustain the magic of the possibility of that really happening long enough to complete it. Having come to realize by Tuesday just how ridiculously impossible the whole scenario is, I couldn't bring myself to bother with it anymore, except for this passing mention.

I don't particularly like the name Bonnie, so I'm not sure I could have finished it anyway. I think I've met precisely one Bonnie in my life. And she was damned hot, come to think of it. I must have been 12 or so. She was the wife of one of my dad's co-workers, and just had this wonderfully cut-above aura. Hmmm, in some ways she may have been an unconscious prototype for me, although she technically wasn't petite. But she had the angularity of face, and somewhat extreme femininity (squeaky little voice too) that I've come to think should be mine, all mine.

Anyway, this former friend I started out talking about, here, was in the direction, although probably a good 10 years too young. And too nice a person to have soaked her ex for big time marital property. Well, probably a bit too much of an air-head too, come to think of it. This little woman I occasionally dream of is pretty sharp. And she's just been patiently waiting her whole life to meet me. Know what I'm saying?