Nov 2, 2017
I came home from my quilt guild meeting tonight so full of something to write about, but I’ve forgotten and it’s left me now. If I could write while I drive, while I’m alone in my head and my thoughts, I’d have so much to share. Like how much I want to be like Raffi, finding his calling and niche and being so incredibly good at it. Or how I didn’t realize until recently just how many Billy Joel songs I know, but don’t know where from. Or how I want to learn more about the people on my Pandora stations and what Neil Diamond was really singing about when he wrote Shilo. (Was it an imaginary friend? A former lover?) Or how I’ve been mentally mapping out bike routes for myself, but also simultaneously worry that I’ll invest in a new bike only to use it as little as I’ve used my last one because–news flash–I’m still just as afraid of crashing as ever, but now I have kids in tow. But then I come home to a husband and kids and I forget all my thoughts and well-intentioned google searches. I forget my best lines and end up writing about rubbish instead. Ah, well.