Unavoidably Detained

I got a little lost, looking for morels. I knew where I was within a couple of miles, knew I'd intersect one of two roads. Being a little lost sharpens the mind. I looked at the setting sun and figured out roughly where I was. The dog was no help, she just stuck her nose in everything. A dumb dog's life is the smell of potential food, and actual food. Maybe it's not stupid, actually knowing where your next meal is coming from. Time I got home, steamed an artichoke, cooked the morels in butter, it was almost dark. I was in the woods for two hours and I have little seed ticks all over my legs. Strip down and wipe them off with alcohol, then witch hazel. The babies are insidious. Just a few dozen and I'm careful to get them all, baggie my underwear until the next laundry. Once, in Missip, a really lovely Southern Belle, wife of a good friend and a city girl, came out, to take the country air, while her husband hunted deer. We were going to feed them supper. We lived miles out of town, Marilyn was pregnant, and when she went into labor, we were going to stay at their house until the contractions were close. Walt was in his tree-stand, pregnant Marilyn had gone to milk the goats, I was fixing dinner. Kathy had gone for a walk. She got back to the house having a panic attack, hundreds of seed ticks on her legs and feet. I went and got the alcohol, the witch hazel, and a roll of paper towels, got her to a chair on the porch and told her to hike up her skirt. There followed one of the most erotic experiences of my life. She had great legs, and after the rather harsh treatment with astringents, I rubbed them with lotion. It didn't then, or anytime after, lead to anything further. But we agreed it was an amazingly sensual event. Their marriage broke up a few years later when Walt broke the picture window at a swanky motel on the outskirts of Grenada, finding Kathy and a local lawyer rather flagrant. Small town life. I was going to say Southern small town life. Then realized, leave off all the adjectives: life. Pegi grabbed me at the museum today, hauled me over behind some panels in the permanent collection, and vented about some things that were bothering her. None of them concerned me directly, nothing I had done, but I listen well and she needed an ear to lean on. Office politics. I have little patience with negotiation, because I live alone, pretty much do what I want. That should be at the heart of education, to do what you want, but it's almost never addressed. The huge rolling ball of society, culture, wants to codify. That's the goal, then they can sell you something. I intend to spend more time lost in the woods. I don't want any part of it. Lord High Doofas on his own little piece of ground. Reject almost any explanation out of hand. I don't believe planes fly. Do you have any idea how much a 747 weighs? There's a Russian 'plane', the largest in the world, it's smoke and mirrors, what they actually have is a very good underground railway system and the dope in the food takes you out of the equation. "Too many morels, we think he's having a fit." It's fucking Tom, though, man, he knows what he's doing. Probably not. Let's say I know him well, assume some things. I thought you'd never ask. He's just another redneck asshole. In so far as I understand. Why would there be separate files for women? I'm curious.