Jot.

You’d think at almost age 37 that I would be smart enough to follow my instincts. When I woke up this morning, feeling remarkably refreshed and centered, I had five or six topics to write about in my blog swimming around in my head. I remember thinking, “Yeah, that’s true!” “Why is that?” “If it could only be that way.”

Here it is lunch time. I sit down in front of the PowerBook to throw out my latest dialogue upon the masses and … nothing.

I think in titles. If I were to write about trains, I’d probably title it “Petticoat Junction.” If I were to write about wigs, I’d probably title it “Green Acres” (let’s see if you can follow that train of thought). I remember tossing around some damn witty titles this morning. I even amused myself to the point of giggling out loud. I remember saying to myself, “I really should write these down so I remember them later today!” Did I follow my instincts and write them down? Of course not. I pride myself on my steel trap memory. I can recite to you every license plate number that has adorned any vehicle I have owned. I can recite to you the license plates from 30 years ago of my parents, my grandparents and my aunts and uncles. What I was thinking about this morning? Not a clue. I think my steel trap is rusting.

Wait, I remember something about scents. Smells. There was to be discussion about … damn. Maybe it was just Earl and I sharing the bathroom.

That being said, I do think there is something humorous about the word “jot”. Jot. J-O-T. It’s a funny looking word to me. It’s a funny sounding word to me. You’d think that since I find something so trivial so amusing, I’d remember to do it.

I’ll have to jot myself a note to remind myself to jot notes down.

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