This was perfection Ann! ---In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, <awoelflebater@...> wrote :
Startling awake Ann tries to move, can’t, begins to panic in a half dream state. Glancing painfully, slowly over to the glowing clock with pressure growing in her chest she wonders if this might be the last thing she sees - the clock illuminated at 3:15am. But suddenly, there is a small release of pressure, a moan and suddenly she realizes her four dogs surround her on the bedcovers, one of them lying on her chest the others curled around her, hemming her in. With immense relief flowing into the place where fear had resided moments earlier she vows to make a trip to the pound first thing in the morning to see if she might find another little puppy soul in need of rescue - you can’t have too many dogs and the husband can find room on the guest bed if necessary. As it is, he’s in deep shit for all of those nudes he’s been snapping up in the studio above the barn. What, does he think - that she's blind? Those models are young and firm and beautiful - that’s it, she fumes- forget the guest bedroom, he can have the doghouse (yet to be built). 3:15, 3:30, 4:00am and no sleep seems destined to return on this early morning so, in anticipation of catching Barry in some flagrant lie or odious posting, she leaps to her feet scattering the snoozing pooches, and heads to the office and her computer. With eager anticipation Ann studies the screen. FFL exists in her mind as that sacred place where she once again connected with her old cult leader Robin, and who she secretly yearns would allow her to once again sit at his feet and gaze up into his intriguing visage in order to hang on with adoration his every word. Those were the days, if only she could once more be back there with him, in the glow of his consciousness and his charisma. But, Barry must never know this, no one must know this. Just like they must never realize that Ann is secretly planning on attending the Mother Divine course in Fairfield. They must never know that she channels Maharishi while seated in full lotus in front of her shrine to all things TM or that she offers healing sessions using lead-based body painting sessions while yodeling in Yiddish. All of it must remain a secret from her friends at FFL. Dwelling on this, she is unaware that the time has passed so quickly and now it is time to don her overalls and gum boots and head out to do the barn chores. As she picks up the pitch fork and scoops the first large poop pile she can find she sighs and is relieved no one knows the truth - she is only a poop picker- she has never sat on a real horse in her life. Oh, how we can create perfect lives via the internet and most of the time no one will ever find out the truth.
