you dream big when you live in Barstow.

I used to live in the desert. I dreamed of being a cowgirl, running horses around barrels, wearing fringy leather jackets with matching boots. And I had too much time on my hands in my first few years of elementary school, which led to writing ridiculous stories pretty frequently.
transcribed (1986): "Magic Boots" (author's note: I used the back [of the paper])

This is how I found out my boots were magic. First thing I jumped into my boots. Next thing I know I'm walking out the door. My boots carried me to the West. I didn't like it there. There were horses running around and one of them kicked me. There were cowboys shootin' [ed. note: I put that apostrophe there when I was 6.]. The sun was hot. After West there was North. North was cold and a walrus bit me. I fell in the snow. Then the badest thing happened and this was it: my boots stopped! I had [to walk] all the way back! I walked one week and then I was home and that is how my boots are magic.

Last week, I finished Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, watched The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, listened to Ennio Morricone's score for a couple days straight, and wondered where exactly my dreams of breaking a wild stallion and riding it west into the sunset had gone. Maybe it was the thought of being bitten by a walrus that did me in. Hard to say.