Sandman's Journal

Blah, blah, blah. Nothin' to say today. I'm still in Killdeer, North Dakota. Doin' my thing. Eatin' pizza. Cupcakes. Oatmeal. Water. Ibuprofen. All I want to do is love somebody with everything I've got. More precisely: a beautiful, sexy, smart, strong, wise woman. I want to get married someday to her and maybe raise a couple Sandlings. We'll take it slow, though. First we'll get to know each other real well, travel, work day jobs, pay the rent, drift apart, get back together with intense yearning. Then we'll decide which dreams are the most important to us and go from there. Maybe I'll join the Zapatistas and say goodbye to my happy ranch. Maybe she'll leave, too, to become an urban school teacher or train horses for the Queen of Scotland. Then what? It won't matter at that point. We'll have had each other, gloriously, for a while. We'll stay friends. That I'm pretty sure of. What about the Sandlings, you ask? Well, no one can say for sure. . .kids might not be in the cards. To conceive or not to conceive? That's a good question.