An English In Kentucky


















May 21st 2011    Tim Candler

     Not really surprised to find The Artist downstairs this morning, but I do have to say that for a moment or two last night the New Me felt the tug of ascension.   So it is more likely the Good Lord sent an incompetent angel for my soul and probably this angel is now hiding in the barn, and I will be forced to give him a lift into town because the odds are he can no longer fly and there is nothing worse than an angel that mopes.

    Depressing, I know, but it's an opportunity to more fully appreciate those days that remain to me.  Certainly will be nice to pull into the gas station with the absolute knowledge that the home schooled with their thousands of children, their fish covered vehicles and their self-serving tee-shirts will all be gone.   But it probably will mean a relative increase in the number of red pickup trucks with plastic gonads hanging from towing hooks.

     At the grocery store I imagine the  "No Smoking" signs will be gone, which will be nice because it's been years since I smoked at a meat counter.  However I should take the shotgun with me on the off chance that the "have a blessed day" chap is still with us.  Of all beings he is the most joyous and failure to rapture could have sent him over the edge.

    On a more thoughtful note I begin to wonder whether the balance tipped against the New Me following my refusal last Wednesday to donate to a charity that grants dying children a final wish.  Or it could be my visualization last Thursday of how I might poison the neighbor's dogs and face no consequence.  Or it could be some equally minor infringement from just yesterday.

    Indeed there could be any number of reasons why I am still here, and maybe that angel in the barn still has his list.

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