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January 15, 2002 a matter of preference Perhaps it was my house-ghost, Louie, who thought it would be funny to change the station on my clock-radio from Roman Catholic programing to country-and-western.  But whatever the cause, instead of waking to familiar liturgical gurglings, I awoke to Patsy Cline singing "I Fall To Pieces."  The foreshadowing drove a stake into my sleep-groggy brain and I fell, not to pieces, but to earth.  I was to attend a court hearing in my divorce proceedings.  This shit was really happening.  And it was finally dawning on me. Or was it?  A part of me got up and floated through my morning routine.  The other part of me continued to lie there and pretend it was all a dream.  I felt like a cartoon character who dies and, while his solid body reposes, his translucent body peels itself upright and walks away.  It's been that way since I began living alone.  Not quite real.  And, if truth be told, I prefer it that way.

©  2002 by the beastmaster