Friday, August 24, 2007

Message # 27

I sat in front of the puter tonight zoning out while email message #27 was being scanned for those pesky heebie jeebies that infect the inner workings and play havoc with the smooth crunching of computer bytes. About 3 minutes into the scan of email message #27, I shook out the cobwebs, jiggled some symapses into sync and thought,

" Jeez, message #27 must be a mother! Wonder what's on it? Porn? Nah. Don't do that no more."

"Make it big!!!! Sell this stupendous extra special gotta have it gizmo on the internet from my home while I lounge poolside with seductive babes bringing me cool drinks in string bikinis?"

"Nah. Probably some ole fart come-on about keepin it rigid, keepin it afloat, or someone wanting to buy my dentures when I die."

"Or even worse - The complete overstock inventory of some bike part distributer hoping to unload on your's truly all the junk he couldn't suck me into during the regular season."

If I have to suffer the pain of surfing through another PDF file inventory of closeouts looking for the one deal that will put me in the black, I will scream."

As I pondered just what was on email message download number(#) 27, as quickly as it appeared, #28, 29 and 30 screamed in to take it's place. I was suddenly left with nothing but my anticipation. Seems that is often all I have left when reality settles in for the long haul.

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