Tonight I sat down to write this really great post about this great idea that I had while mowing the lawn.
Man, it was going to kill. It had this mix of satire and farce that felt the way a good, holiday quality toasted Chex Mix tastes – deep, satisfying, and oh so crunchy.
Yep. Crunchy. I’m standing by it.
But the reason that you’re not reading that and I’m writing this is that I, against every instinct, did not make a note about it. Not one. I didn’t scribble it on a piece of paper, or even use the supercomputer that I carry in my back pocket. “I’ll remember this, for sure,” I said to myself. “It’s too good to forget.”
But I did.
So today, on the grassy knoll I call the front yard, I learned again that writers write. They don’t think, and they don’t remember – because they write shit down.
Even during chores.
