A long time ago, my dear teacher Mrs. Borem gave us the task of journal writing. Every few days in class we had to sit for ten minutes and write. I hated it, and have never been faithful in keeping a diary. One day I gave the obligatory groan when she told us to pull out our notebooks. She said "Just write. You'll be surprised how fast you can fill up a page when you have nothing to say."
And I did.
And I am. I'm here with nothing to say.
If my thoughts could settle themselves into some sort of assembly line, they might go something like this:
"Wow. So whatshisname… Osama.. is dead. Now what?"
"Why is it Taylor Swift can carry a tune in a recording and never on stage? Oh, wait, this isn't
"There really has to be a law on the books somewhere that an insurance company can't fault you for an accident and pay on it without at least asking if you were involved."
And, as I read the quote of the day in my chiropractor's office - "The kinder and more thoughtful a person is, the more kindness they can find in other people" - well, sorry, I call bullshit on that one.
And I've had the day to prove it, starting with the crazy person who didn't like that I didn't like that she was tailgating. After letting her know I wasn't appreciative of this newfound closeness by hitting my brakes just before turning off the road, this big beefy broad in a redneck-style SUV follows me and tracked me all over the parking lot yelling something out of her open window.