I feel sorry for Senator Craig (R) from Idaho more than anything else.  He’s been living with another man inside him.  (Pun is not intended.  It’s very difficult to write about this story and not stumble on a pun.)  The man inside Craig is attracted to men.  At least physically, that much we know.  Who’s to say where his emotions lay…  It’s the fact that he’s such a fervent hypocrite that makes me angry.  The Right Wing agenda of using gay men and women as political fodder was embraced by Craig.  How pathetic is that? 

It’s getting to the point where I suspect all “true believers”.  I don’t have any of them in my daily life, they mostly show up in the bodies of politicians (R).  They have an agenda.  A lifestyle.  They want to convert your children.  Beware. 

Your boss said your good name was ”dragged through the mud for political reasons” — wow.  What a lie.  You dragged our country through the mud for political reasons.  This is your own making, Mr.  If you were honorable you would address the issue.  But like everyone else in the subministration in which you serve, you will slither off and make money and call it a day.  Good riddance. 

Late this afternoon a storm blew through the Coachella Valley.  Lightning, thunder, shiny bullets of rain.  There were white caps in my swimming pool.  During the 2 minute rainstorm,  I dashed out and stood in the assault of water.  The molecules in my nervous system rearranged.  I was weightless, fleet of foot, after a long week of being hunkered down, boots on the ground. 

(You will need to reverse this post with the last post if you want to read the REVERSE posts in order.)

My foot was not broken. Luke checked it out at the garage where my car was towed. If you could see my foot right now, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was run over by my car. I’ve heard about cars running over people’s feet and I always imagined the foot bones being crushed into miniature pieces. I don’t have a Hummer, it’s a Jag, but still I have no explanation mathematically why my foot isn’t crushed. I’m very happy it is not, let me make that clear. But still, I wonder. If anyone has any ideas about why my foot was not crushed under the weight of my car, please contact me through this site. All I have to do is look at a sharp edge and I bruise… but yet, well you know the story.

John, the hippie mechanic who is working on my gears, will be finished with my car in the morning then I will drive back to the desert just in time for a long weekend of working on my new novel.