slacking

Sitting in the car this morning, I was remembering how I would think in blog posts before I even had signed up with Blogger.  My friend had been telling me to start a blog for awhile and I started reading a lot of your posts before making the plunge myself.  I especially remember going to see Bill Cosby and that I sat there, stuffed between a very large and unshowered man and my husband, view of Bill blocked by a support beam, distracting myself from the stench next to me by writing a story about the experience in my head that I would one day wow you with when I finally started my own site.

When we do something new or exceedingly boring, I still think in blog posts.  I must have mentally written a hundred posts in the last month.  There’s one about walking beneath sharks and sawfish, one about sitting in the hot tub for three hours drinking SoCo and lime, one about my first casino experience, and another about meandering the lovely streets of Cincinnati on a chilly Saturday afternoon.  I wish my godkids were my own so I could choose to talk about them freely here and preserve in text the amazing observations they make.

I think someone ought to invent a mental dictation machine.