Thursday

Tough, tough, individual Americano that Thoreau. He seems to think, though, cobwebs are just beautiful. That cobwebs exist only near rustic New England barns. I do him a great disservice. My own toughness runs in the family. None of us kids ever saw Mom and Dad hug, let alone kiss, though Pop took her deer hunting once, dressing her in his red construction hard hat. Pro and con. He did plant rose bushes but he killed chickens, hitting the with a baseball bat. Me, I was more concerned with the floating milkweed, after I opened the pod. He never understood. He was a doer, not a dreamer. Thoreau.
I guess he died a virgin,he was so devoted to his "artistic freedom." Me, I would now give up my freedom in a heart beat to my sometimes red haired, sometimes blond woman friend. I quit for the day. I need to rewrite as Thoreau did with his book, Walden. More to come. Bachelorhood is all about having a favorite plastic spoon--but I digress. That's a joke, not self pity.