I've fallen, and I can't seem to find my way back up, but it's rather nice down here....not Temperpedic nice, but....

Staring at this empty space, just below the empty space that suggests a title.

I can remember, years ago, writing a little note to a girl I was fond of, during a typing class I took in high school.

Side note: When I was in high school, we learned typing on something they called "a typewriter". These ancient artifacts to the formality of the scribble were unpowered, and when you made a mistake, it wasn't necessarily an easy fix. More than likely it was time to start over. And don't get me started on carbon paper....

Anyway, I was writing this note. And it got out of hand. It went from an innocuous note to a stream of consciousness monologue the likes that would make Groucho Marx green with envy. And when it was finished, I gave it to her.

And as she read it, she laughed.
Not a derisive laugh, mind you; not the kind of laugh you dreaded in high school, that kind of laugh that made you feel isolated; but the kind of laugh that showed a kind of appreciation.

The thing is, I didn't really have anything to say in the note.

Almost thirty years later, I am embarrassed by the fact that I have nothing of relevance to say.

SO.

In deference to the lee tide I seem to be living through, I give you more random thoughts.

I know what cottage cheese is. And I know what french fries are. I'm confused about something called "cottage fries." It would seem to me that this particular food group cannot exist, because cottage cheese is a liquid and french fries are a tortured potato.

When I was a child, I thought the church I went to accepted cannibalism, because in every service they would delicately hand out the body and blood of Christ, and people would consume it.

A couple of nights ago, I watched Lewis Black's THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. It was very funny. I encourage you to watch.

I took two IQ tests yesterday. One said my IQ was 49, which I believe means I shouldn't even be able to dress myself. I believe they referred to me as "profoundly retarded." The other said my IQ was 140. Now that I think about it, the fact that I wanted to show that I wasn't "profoundly retarded" makes me "somewhat retarded."

The taxes are done.
I can remember when I would have to pay taxes, I would send along a little note, saying, "none of this money is to be used for military purposes."
Think it worked?

I am hoping that this feeling of lethargy passes soon, and that writing becomes more of a pleasure and less of a burden.