The plan

These next few days are crucial. I need to resolve certain issues. I need to get some paperwork out. I need to get the wheels turning and moving in the direction in which my desires are pointed.

So a man walks into a doctor's office with a frog on his head. The doctor says, "What seems to be the problem?"

The frog says, "I've got this wart on my butt."

I wish people would come to see me when they promise to, rather than making me wait around forever.

The weather and the sky are beautiful, but I am stuck here, inside, waiting for the clock to tick by.

I wonder what Tex is doing.

Why does a gorilla have big nostrils? Big fingers.

It appears that the guys may be up for getting together in August. I hope it works out. John is quite generous to offer me his frequent flyer miles to get the two of us out to San Francisco and back. I hope it works out.

The life of a real estate attorney, if that is, in fact, what I am, is tenuous at times.

What do you call a lawyer buried in sand up to his neck? A good start.

I received a copy of a quiz on the history of New Orleans. It was interesting. That place is a pile of long gone by.

Of course, I wouldn't mind being back in Athens like I was yesterday. Or Apalachicola. Or St. Pete. Or St. Simons. Or Riverside Drive in Clarksville. Or in the Bluegrass Inn in Nashville. Or sitting on the green grass of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky. Thinking about the Shakers and their simple lives.

I wouldn't want the celibacy, but the simplicity is appealing.

'Tis a gift to be simple.'

Pray. Pray. Pray.