I’ve found a problem with my system for productivity. I haven’t done anything since 1979, and it took me nearly fifteen minutes to find a pen to write to you with.
It was in the refrigerator.
Edmund tells me that I need to find meaningful work, but his situation is similar to mine except that he seems to enjoy himself more. He he’s been trying to create games to play in the yard. He spends hours outside with balls and sticks and clubs, hanging nets from the trees, stringing ropes across the garden, and filling his ‘rulebook’ with undescipherable gibberish.
His obsession with creating the perfect backyard game gave me an idea as well.
It started with one neighborhood dog, which I spotted in our yard. When I went to shoo him out, he hunched back and made his mess right in the middle of Edmund’s grid, between what Edmund was calling ‘the hook line’ and ‘the guardian line’.
With a single piece of chicken, I was able to entice three more mutts into our yard to do their business on Edmund’s playing field. Suddenly, my idea began to solidify and take shape.
When Edmund returned from the hardware store carrying what he planned to use to create a new kind of sports equipment, I left the house through the front door with a stack of flyers for my new dogsitting service.
Over the next week, I had as my clients all of the biggest, meanest animals I could find with which to mess up Edmund’s pitch.
Unfortunately, Edmund is allergic to dogs, so he was not very keen on my little joke. So, I took down my flyers and returned all of the animals to their owners. Then I used the money that I had made with my dogsitting business and bought bags of manure from the local horse farm.
Well, I am sorry Zissy, but I need to finish this letter soon. This pen is running out of ink and I’m unable to find another one.
Please come and visit us at the cottage sometime. We’ll have a cookout in the back yard.