Simon

I'd like to be able to call myself a Gold Panner one day...

When I worked the flea market a couple weeks ago a met a fellow vendor who pans for gold in the spring out at Princeton. He doesn't make money, he makes nuggets. Then it dawned on me. I could be a gold panner. I'd like to pay myself in nuggets and make about 9 nuggets per day. Then under "occupation" I can put "gold panner." I'll become explosively rich and I'll do something obnoxious with my nuggets like melt them into a belt.

I'll wear my melt belt like a feign and hide the sand trapped in my fingernails with nugget enclosed fists. I'll use some of my gold to build a time travel apparatus that needs my melt belt as the keystone for activation.

I've long had a crush on the periodic table of elements, my attraction to the metals forming a romance of sorts. Iron is in my blood and gold is in my heart. It's the only metal in my heart. If I have to dig through grains of sand to find it, then Au revoir. I'll be at the river panning with gold dusted knees and eyes that spate like the klamath.

Score!

I'm just remembering that one time I died in the snow

I'm just remembering that one time I died in the snow. I'm feeling it again, but feeling the painless part, the death part. The part where I came alive again, the part where it no longer hurt. Dying in the snow was far less painful than I thought it would be. It's like a good memory I have, a milestone. The feeling in my body became numb, and then cool, and then fluttery, and then cool again, like dipping into a pool on a hot day.

Wft?. What?

What the fuck are you talking about, Google.