"6-19-74/FBNA/USAW"
The faint familiarity of the numbers comforted her, somehow, although in her conscious mind she could not place them. She felt a warm affection for the mutt, whose haplessness reminder her of her own.
...and yet...could even a really really adorable dog help her now, at a time when, due to the inordinate stress in her life, her very mind was playing cruel tricks on her? Why, earlier in the day, she had thought for a moment that Daddy Mensa bore a physical resemblance to Daddy Warbucks, when she, (and all who knew him,) knew full well that
"The Mensa representative was a young, virile male, about 6'2". Dark hair. Muscular build. Obviously a body builder. He was wearing a "Chicago Bulls" jersey..."
I can still remember every detail about him!, she thought, so why am I suffering these delusions that he resembles people who in fact bear no resemblance to him at all!!
It must, she decided, be the stress not only from the, well, challenges to her resolve to remain pure in thought as well as deed that she had recently confronted, but also because the market was tanking and every stock in her portfolio (to say nothing of her clients') except Wavephore had ended that day in the red!
It was almost too much. She decided to enter her tumultuous thoughts into her personal diary, but she recalled those words of wisdom... where had she read them...was it perhaps Mark Twain, who had expressed his opinion that anyone who wrote without being paid for it was a fool?!
Again and again, Muffy smacked her throbbing head against the keyboard of her computer. Not lightly, either. Really hard! |
