What is this now?

The reading was good, the reading was helpful, but the reading didn't tell me how to catch one of the little people. Might have to go talk to the neighbors again and see if there's anything in their stories that tell you how to catch one of these fellas. I don't believe that the neighbor girl would actually have caught one but, if she did, I wonder if she'd take pity on a sad old Patrick and lend him a wish. You don't know until you ask.

I pondered all these things as I wandered out to the shed. My aunt calls it a shed. I wouldn't. To me, a shed is a small structure that you can fit a lawnmower and maybe some lawn games, but not much else. My aunt's idea of a shed is something I'd call a garage; it's a larger structure used for storage. You could fit a car or two in it but she doesn't keep a car in it and that's likely the difference in terminology. I don't think she has a car in there anyway. There's a lot of stuff in the shed so perhaps there's a car amongst it all. It's not where she keeps the car she drives, if that helps. In amongst all this non-sorted stored materials is my stash of whiskey.

It's not that I've hidden this whiskey in the shed. That would be weird, possibly awkward, certainly the sign of some sort of problem. At the very least it would show I expected to have my whiskey confiscated and was planning ahead to have that not happen. If I did do that, I'm not quite sure what that would say about me. Either I'm one step ahead or very protective of my whiskey. Consciously my decision to place the bulk of my stash here was because it looked like too much to store in the house all at once. Also, getting more would involve a hint of exercise as I'd have to walk all the way over here to restock. It's not far but it does involve leaving the house and crossing the yard. Every little bit helps. Subconsciously was I hiding it? It's hard to say. My subconscious hasn't been speaking with me much of late so who knows what it's up to now.

Reasons aside, the bulk of my whiskey store is in the shed. At least that was my belief until I looked in the case. I am sure, no, I know there were loads more bottles of whiskey left in there. Now the case is empty. I may have been on a bit of a bender recently but I didn't, I couldn't, have drunk all that already. I didn't, did I? No, impossible, that's at least a dozen bottles missing. Without help, an extra liver at least, I'd be dead, genetics or not. So someone pinched my whiskey.

Really? I don't need this now. I mean, I never need this sort of thing but especially now. Who would do digging around in here and grab all this? We're out of town. It takes five minutes to walk to the neighbors, longer to stagger, and I know that for a fact. It's not likely we'd have a visitor or a prowler. Which must mean my aunt found my whiskey and hid it on me. Which is bull.