Letter from upstate Wyoming

It's been such a busy day in upstate Wyoming, what with all the rain and the almost gale force winds that work against whatever you're trying to do--like thinking for instance, or writing a letter to yourself, reminding yourself of all reasons you decided to publish your novel under a pseudonym, that the day gets away from you and before you know it it's almost gone like your son's baseball cap with the Nike swoosh that blew off his head while he was nailing down the roof of the straw-bale studio he built for you in 2003 and you found in the alfalfa field about a mile or so from the studio in 2006, faded but still wearable. Neither your son or you can figure out how the Nike hat made it across the river, but it did. And now you can't figure out what happened to the day, it just disappeared while you sat inside typing letter after letter, and so now it's almost gone.