03/19/01

Cupid Boy got on my ass today about not reporting my change of address to him. Fuck head.

I didn’t change my address, I say, I went home. I’m back at my legal address. You know where to find me!

And then he lets me know he’s unhappy about me promising to fix his girlfriend’s Winnebago and then not following through.

Do you realize she has only to the end of the month to get it off the lot or else it could be sold at auction?

So what, I think to myself, you gonna make fixing Cupcake’s fuckmobile a term and condition of my probation?

You really should make an effort to live up to your promises, he says.

Fuck head.

Did some serious daydreaming before. Tried to imagine life around here during the Revolutionary War. Thought maybe I could get somewhere with the story I’m supposed to be writing about Phebe’s namesake Phebe Reynolds. But it didn’t work. My mind slipped back further in time---way back further--- to the retreat of the glaciers. To when the mastodon were still roaming around here, being hunted by Paleolithic man. There is only one mastodon left anywhere. A tribe tries to protect it as a sacred being but it proves impractical to guard. Fearing it will inevitably be lost to a rival tribe, it is sacrificed and consumed. The last of the mighty mastodon.

Not sure that would steam up Phebe’s panties though.