Where is my damned scribe?

Most days, I wish I had a scribe running around behind me. I have so many thoughts I want to write about throughout the day — some big, some small — that I can’t remember a fraction of them to start with. Even when I can, by the time I sit at a computer and have time to type them out, I’m no longer interested in exploring that thought. If I had that damned scribe kicking around while I’m driving through town or getting dressed after a massage, I could simply verbalize a whole post and just come back to edit it before posting it online. Damn, that would be easier.

Another option would be a voice recorder. Actually, I think I have one of those. But then I’d have to listen to my own voice and transcribe the words, and I wouldn’t like that. Listening to yourself speak is only slightly better than seeing video of yourself — anyone who is not a delusional narcissist will wince at both of those things. It’s a terrible thing to see the way your mouth twists to one side when you speak, or hear the tiny lisp or annoying sing-songy cadence in your voice. I find that stuff horrifying.

So I don’t know what I’m to do. I mean, today alone, I had at least three, maybe four things I wanted to write about. What were they now? I don’t know. I think one was about how we should be forced to see both the upstream and downstream costs of everything we do. For example, if you buy a car, you should have to sit through a seminar that details the destruction and waste caused by each step of the cars construction (like the mining of the metals and fabrication of the plastic moulding), as well as the destruction and waste associated with drilling for and refining gas and oil so that the car can run, and also the amount of pollution that car will puke forth in its lifetime, and so on and so forth. I think the same approach should go for everything else, too: the food we eat, computers and phones we use for a few years and then throw away, the cheap clothes made by slave labour that we wear, etc. People in the first world should be forced to confront the vast waste and destruction we are responsible for, and we should feel guilty and miserable for it. We deserve it.


Buy chocolate, and you are responsible for rampant deforestation in the Amazon — animals are literally going extinct because you have a sweet tooth. Sleep well.

And that’s just one of the gems I thought about today that I DIDN’T have a scribe to write down for me!

Now it’s a few days later (I’m writing this in fits and starts), and today while I was on a run, I thought of something I wanted to write about. But when I got home, I couldn’t remember the damn thing. I retraced my steps and remembered other things I thought about during other portions of the run, but couldn’t remember the thing I wanted to write about. If only I had a damned scribe with me then. Fear not, though, dear readers — while laying on the floor doing yoga after my run, I spontaneously remembered the lost idea so I jumped up, dashed to the computer, and jotted the basic premise down. I will be delving into this latest masterpiece soon.

But my point is I need a scribe, stat. I can’t keep working like this. I’m hamstringing myself, like Michelangelo being forced to paint the Sistine Chapel with crayons. It’s insanity.


I’m just goofing around. I know I have more in common with this Michelangelo.


space trip

a new friend just invited me out for a hang out with some other people i don’t know, and at a place i’ve never been. it’s distinctly out of my comfort zone but when this kind of thing catches me in the right mood, i can be very game for it.

i’m going to get ready to meet them shortly but i hate feeling rushed for anything, especially fun things, so i’m taking my time to eat some chocolate, write this post, and listen to some ‘chillwave’ before actually making any steps to leave the house.

(yup, i’ve been listening to more and more electronic music since xmas. it’s crazy. i wish my 14-yr old self could have known the middle-aged me would get into this shit about 15 years too late. my 14-yr old self would have cringed in horror and disbelief, and i like shocking anyone, myself included.)

i might end up being a little late for this get together but i’m fine with that because i hate being one of the first people at anything. i find when i’m the first person somewhere, i wonder if anyone else is even going to show up, if the event is going to be a super sad flop, that sort of thing. it makes me anxious. i prefer to be fashionably late and show up when everyone else is already there and doing their thing. then i can quickly suss out the situation and determine if it’s something fun i want to stick around at for a while, or if a quick escape will be necessary.

on a similar note, i also like leaving things when they are still fun. i want to end stuff on a good note, to leave wanting more instead of feeling like it was fun but got boring or sad near the end of the night or whatever. i hate being one of the last people at a party, witnessing the last drunks stumbling around. it’s like cigarette butts at the the bottom of a filthy, half empty glass of flat beer on a deck railing. those are the dregs of the night, and generally not meant to be consumed.

ok, now i feel ready to go.