A Message from My Favorite Memory
I popped into my old email account today to find a little note from someone I haven’t seen in years and rarely hear from but of whom I miss perhaps more than anyone else who’s moved on from the immediate circle that is my life.
She would always pop up on the smoking deck at school, bouncing a rubber ball and wearing a blue bandana that she eventually gave to me before disappearing one December never to be seen again. I think about her a lot and respect her opinions so when she pointed out that I was insulting any readers by writing “reading is only for those who can’t write themselves” I thought I should clarify that:
1. I’m not trying to be a giant pompous bastard who thinks he’s so great, but was merely attempting to come up with an excuse (a bogus one at that) as to why I don’t read more.
2. My opinions are worth exactly half of what it costs me to post them on the web (which is $0, American).
But all in all, I’m feeling very happy right now as my head fills with memories and my heart with jubilation. Now onward, Christian soldiers, into the fray of mid afternoon mumble jumble.
Up Next: Amazing Somewhat Subtle Not So Grand