I've been adrift at sea for nearly two years. The ship is rickety, there's no land in sight, and I'm surrounded by salt water. I've been living off rainwater runoff and urine to survive. It doesn't look good.
Every few weeks or so, a little man in a boat, a speed boat to be more specific, approaches my ship. He won't let me board his boat, no matter how much I plead. What he does offer me is fresh water, a gallon at a time. He hands me the gallon jug and speeds off into the distance, to some unseen place on the horizon.
The first few times he appeared, I guzzled the water. I was so thirsty, I didn't know how to conserve it. Once I got used to the pattern of his visits, expecting them, I learned to ration the water out so that I would always have a little left when he came back to replenish the gallon.
I had to learn suppress the urges I had, the urges overtake the man, to knock him out of the boat. I learned to appreciate the gift of the water, that the man owed me nothing.
The weeks pass and I remain adrift, dreaming of the day that I reach land that I will call home and partake of the sustenance in the freshwater lake.
Every few weeks or so, a little man in a boat, a speed boat to be more specific, approaches my ship. He won't let me board his boat, no matter how much I plead. What he does offer me is fresh water, a gallon at a time. He hands me the gallon jug and speeds off into the distance, to some unseen place on the horizon.
The first few times he appeared, I guzzled the water. I was so thirsty, I didn't know how to conserve it. Once I got used to the pattern of his visits, expecting them, I learned to ration the water out so that I would always have a little left when he came back to replenish the gallon.
I had to learn suppress the urges I had, the urges overtake the man, to knock him out of the boat. I learned to appreciate the gift of the water, that the man owed me nothing.
The weeks pass and I remain adrift, dreaming of the day that I reach land that I will call home and partake of the sustenance in the freshwater lake.
Be Cool, o.k.?
KZ
12 comments:
THE LITTLE MAN IN THE BOAT, huh???? hahahahahahahahaha
I have no other comment. But wait this is about writing...right? bwahahahahahaha
@CaliKim
That's all I got on this one. This drifting is madness.
@OneFrom
LOL! Yeah, writing.
KZ
PS: I like the way you phrased this story. Very erotic!!
I have the feeling you won't be adrift for much longer.
The way to drink "TAD" is slow sip, breath.....slow sip breath.....etc. Be happy for the damn water nucca! I'm dying of dehydration here. LOL
ooh you miss someone something dreadful don't you?
Is that what getting older means? Learning to appreciate the water when we get it?
This ain't 'bout no damn writing...lol And it's oh so sweet.
My little man in a boat only delivers vinegar. Next time I see that little MFer, Im gonna knock him in the head, steal his boat and get the f*ck out of here! LOL!
Anyway, I hope you reach the shore soon, where you and your writing will have your very own home together with a poland springs watercooler... in every room of the house... including in the living room on the couch
...just dont make any little ice cubes this weekend, okay?!?!?
;-p
we all know the real deal.. I can bring you some pumas and a box of newports....I want MORE!!!!!
spectacularly ingenious!!! HA!
i caught that lil man in the boat reference too...you ain't slick!
@OneFrom
You think? I hope not.
@Angie
I feel like I'm dying of dehydration in a slow, pleasant way.
@Miss Ahmad
A tad. Just a tad.
@MizJJ
Maybe that's the lesson of being older. It's a hard lesson.
@Beauty
This is about writing. Writing and getting thirsty.
@Chezniki
I've found the little man requires a little playfulness to be receptive, nahmean?
@GG
You trippin'! I really love writing.
@Robyn
What did Phife say about the little man in Electric Relaxation?
@Aqua
Most of my younger readers didn't get the reference. You're still in your early 30s so I thought it might have bypassed you.
For those of you weak on the analogy: Little Man = Clitoris.
KZ
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