© 2010 E.Gosney

It's been blowing like crazy the past couple days. I forgot how much I love the wind. Even when its chill stings my cheeks and its gusts push me around like a mosh pit. In fact, that's what I love about it. It smells good too. I can smell the death in it -- the decayed leaves and grass -- but I can smell a hint of spring. It may only be January, but maybe it's mother nature's way of letting us know she's still there. It won't be long and the dreariness of winter will be over.

My roommate said I was talking in my sleep last night. I was asking where Maggie was. I don't know any Maggie's. But if Deon and Dillan have a girl, they want to name her Maggie. If they have a girl, let the record show that I called it. Yes, this is another example of my psychic ability.

The washing machine gauged me today. I don't think that was very fair. I didn't do anything to it. I gave it $1.50 for 26 minutes of work ... oh, never mind. I see why it retaliated.
"That's like a dollar an hour!" --napoleon dynamite

I'm trying to psych myself up to write a personal essay, or a piece of "creative non-fiction." Yeah, OK. I love being able to write. The satisfaction that comes from putting the right words together into a sentence is amazing. But if the desire to write doesn't come on its own because of strong emotion or noteworthy event, then I have to get warmed up. I have to ease myself into it, and that can be painful. I'd rather be sleeping. Or taking pictures. Or driving. I really want to hop in my car and just drive. Fast. But I don't have a car. And I have to write. A personal essay. Yeah, OK.

1 comment:

  1. So I like your song picks. I really want to go see wicked again. If it comes to New Mexico this summer you want to go? And it would be super awesome if your psychic abilities were right about us having a girl.