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Good morning, Virginia Woolf. Will you kindly assist me in making the world go away? Let me indulge in the warm butter-yellow of the morning sun, exchanging the low rumbling of my pervy neighbor's low rider for the mockingbirds up ahead? [Yes, that's much better. He's quite the squib isn't he?]

Yes, yes he is. But let's not talk about him. I want to be left fat and happy before breakfast on your misconstrued murmur. I was scarce two paragraphs in before my own cheeks were aglow with firey color, from laughter. It made me envy your studied willow trees, I missed my own hair hanging about my shoulders.

It would have provided a mask so I wouldn't have to explain my delight. So then I could continue to have you all to myself. Even the beadles that would be crunched underneath your feet. Your patience is admirable, how could they not see that! Being chased off a lawn as if you were a loitering animal, a wayward hound that scented something on the table promising only to swatted away.

TBC....few pages left and my hated life interrupts. Really?