Sometimes I worry that all of these stories I have swarming around in my head will come back to haunt me. 

I have so many short stories, or even just random paragraphs that wander endlessly through my mind, kept in what I call, the vault.  Some make it to paper, some just get absorbed back into the thick walls of my skull.  But what I wonder is, as I age, will I get confused about what was real and what was just a story to me?

I envision a nice Sunday afternoon dinner with my daughter and her family when I'm in my later years.  I start regaling them with a story about a gorgeous young farm boy I met when I ran away from home....or the time I won a National Championship horse show...and as I ramble on, she passes behind my dinning chair.  Ellie makes eye contact with her husband, slowly lifting her index finger to her temple loosely encircling it indicating that I have completely lost my mind.

These are the things I wonder about....what will I be like when I am old and dusty? 

How soon will they lock me up? 

And will all these stories, and fantasy ideas be the root cause for my admission?


*She's only seven months old...so I think I have some time before she locks me up*