Not every day begins with an epiphany. But Dave knew before sliding the Degree across his armpits that this was going to be a two-fister day and we're not just talking about a full-charge-on-the-waterpik-day. Last night it hit him that his fock-in-the-road block on the screenplay was Kaufmanesque a la Adaptation. He needed an insert to the characters excluding himself. He immediately went to Connie in his mind. So she's writing my memoirs and decides to include her gorgeous self to the panoply of goofballs embroidered into my life. So it could happen, maybe somewhere during the Madmen years right up to the 80s. I'm thinking maybe during the Christmas celebration at work when I borrowed the Santa shirt, hat and fake beard and trolled the building for girls who were as drunk as me and kissed them and body pressed them and we could make Connie be standing there ready to accept Santa's buss but being called away at the last second. Meaning here would be "not a prude by any measure, but fate takes her hand so she's not just a miniscule character later on". Nah - too vanilla. Maybe Connie could be the gal in the Fort Bragg canteen who says yes to my request to dance with her, spins with me, steals my heart then drops out of my life because of the military thing until years later when we meet again for keeps. Better, but still needs more subtlety and prescience of our real destiny. Here we go - Connie's at the Squire during my reception and we connect at the duck pond where a hen and her hatchlings are on the shore and I look at her taking a drag from my Camel and ask "think they'll meet again after they fly away from here?" or "was your daddy a farmer 'cause I'm lovin' your mellons". Ack - time to revert to blocked state of mind and beg for brilliance.