euonymus slug
This, ALL THIS /points at URL, has destroyed my whimsy. USED TO BE I would amuse myself with haphazard thoughts during the day, during my drive, half-asleep, lying naked upon the bosom of a Dane, and then toss those words aside, like so many dandelion seeds blown into the breeze.
No more. Now each bon mot must be logged to MENTAL NOTES, as I rush to find pen and paper, or pen and cocktail napkin or BLOOD AND BARE SPACE ON ABDOMEN, just so that I might commit those words to the internest, SHARE SHARE SHARE.
/cue the ducks
THIS MORNING UPON FINDING AN ALTERNATE ROUTE TO WORK
WHILE STUCK BEHIND A LINE OF SLOW MOVING VEHICLES, SAYS OUT LOUD:
“The problem with the road less traveled is that it’s full of people asking for directions.”
NEARLY HITS THREE PEDESTRIANS WHILE FRANTICALLY SEARCHING GLOVE COMPARTMENT FOR SOMETHING TO WRITE WITH.
Remember that scene in Fountainhead where Wynand commissions a film only to destroy it once he’s watched it, (anyway, I hope that’s an actual scene, it’s been 20 years since I read the damn thing)? Well that’s how I used to adore my own words. There was never any intention of sharing my creations with others.
NOW, APPARENTLY, I’M A GODDAMNED PHILANTHROPIST.
/cue the ducks
I watch her as she adds yet one more assignment to his growing list of OTHER DUTIES AS ASSIGNED, and suddenly, my mind’s eye director cuts to a scene of a Jenga stack crashing down.
GETS UP AND LEAVES CONFERENCE ROOM
‘Where are you going?’
‘I need to go write something down.’
‘Again?’
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