There’s still a light in that old cabin across the field. Last night I could see a lamp fly past the window. I could hear things crash and the old man swearing under his breath. Funny how those acrid shouts in the night air fill me with a sense of comfort. After days of silence I feared that something may have happened. I imagined taking the long walk through the Durum fields, and the knocking on the door. . . oh, and the smell!! Oh, God, the smell! . . .I’m glad the old man is not dead. I’m glad he’s up crashing and shouting and cursing the world that races on around him. I won’t go and visit him of course. I hate the smell of his house anyway. Why is it some people never open windows?

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That last bit was what my silly brain wanted to write this morning. Don’t ask me why, or what it’s about. I’m afraid I don’t know. I wake up sometimes and suddenly a narrator just takes off yakking. It’s a sort of craziness I suppose. The same one that causes that late nights when you wake up from a dead sleep with the solution to a problem that’s been haunting you for days. Sometimes the brain has a life of its own. Occasionally, just occasionally it will share tidbits with its outer shell.

It seems as if our conscious mind is like a thick little brother to our “A ” student UN-conscious brain. Every now and again our smarter sibling will endow us with a story or help us with our homework, but then he moves on to other “big people” things leave us alone to wrestle with our fourth grade math problems.

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