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.


more coincidences

it’s been a while since i’ve experienced any “whoah that’s weird” moments but i just had two in short order.

in the first one, i received two emails from ben at 11:48 am. at that same time, my phone inexplicably tried to shut itself down and then froze while doing so. i took the battery out, put it back in, and when the phone came back to life it showed that i had three new messages from ben. but they weren’t new, they were actually from many months ago, and i had deleted them back then. weird that those texts were somehow re-sent at the same time that ben was emailing me. who or what re-sent them, and why?

in the second twilight zone experience of the day, i was in the basement sorting through some stuff when i came across the instructions for a digital voice recorder i bought about 10 years ago. shortly after i bought it, i loaned it to paul and promptly forgot about it. so i texted paul today to ask if he still had it, expecting him to say he had no idea what happened to it or that he thought he gave it back to me long ago, but he replied, “i was actually holding it last night wondering how it was that i never gave it back. can’t even remember why i borrowed it.” i haven’t asked paul how often he holds this voice recorder and gazes longingly at it but i’m guessing he probably hasn’t seen it or even thought about it in many years.

so that’s kind of neat. i wonder if these two coincidences are trying to point me towards something.


i’m inching closer to complete lunacy.