Monday, April 16, 2012



Ticked Off in Tulsa writes: RAMBO, I have a neighbor who's a bit of a talker. She's always cornering me and subjecting me to long monologues about neighborhood gossip, what her kids are doing, or her (ill-informed) political opinions. I don't like to be unfriendly, but every time she gets going, I can count on at least a 20-minute delay before I can extricate myself. It's gotten to the point that I actually check to make sure she's not out in her yard before I head to my car in the morning. How do I gently let her know that I don't always have time to listen?

Dear Ticked Off: Last night the dream came again. The grinning skulls of the men I've killed, their empty sockets silently accusing me. The stench of burning flesh. And the blood, a river of blood that has no bottom, a river whose source is the blackness of my own ruined soul. I awoke bathed in a freezing sweat, gasping in terror. Only a dream, you say, and so it was; and the horrible vision of those accusing skulls and the putrid stench of dead men's flesh faded soon upon waking. But the blood was still there. The blood is always there. It's all blood, you see. All of it.

Wow, those Chatty-Cathy types can sure drive you up the wall, can't they? :)

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