I carry a notebook with me, always. I realize that there are people who don’t – but what do they do when the ideas happen, when bits of unusual conversation crop up?
Don’t tell me it goes unrecorded!
Even on the bus, the notebook is always at the ready.
And so it was with some surprise that I overheard the end of a conversation on said bus the other day that incorporated a subtle nod in my direction and one of them saying, “Hey, we might have problems, but at least we’re not on the bus writing in our diary.”
And then they laughed.
Excuse me? Writing in my diary?
Do these people have any idea who I am?!
I like thinking that, by the way. “Do you know who I am?!” So pretentious! So ridiculously self-satisfied. Reminds me of a cousin, a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Marilyn Manson, who used to get into Jerry-Springer-worthy bar fights that always started with her bellowing, "How dare you! How dare you!!"
Perhaps I have taken this whole blogging thing too seriously. It’s one thing to have had business cards made for passing out at readings but perhaps it’s another to have commissioned the plaque I hope to hang in the main hall at my old high school.
“Home of the Cardinals and Pearl, Blogger Extraordinaire, Snappy Dresser, and Recipient of the 1980 Worst-Smelling Gym Locker Competition. Go Cards!”
Still. Those two guys – I should have them killed.
Two Songs On The Trainride To Peace
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