I often sit here in front of the computer perplexed about what to blog. I am one of those people that writes everywhere - and on everything. I keep a stash of pens to make your supply closet look empty (which, if I have been near it, it may well be). But the creativity doesn't always flow in front of the computer. I need the scritch-scritch-scritch of pen on paper...
Which is ironic, because my world is a plethora of stories... I see the strangest things that most people miss. It's like the Universe is just quietly handing me material. If I would just look around and use it.
I was telling my friend about my afternoon today - and she was like 'there's a blog post!' and the light over my head flickered.
I was sitting outside watching the cars go by like I am wont to do - looking much like a lunatic in my own right: red einstein hair (I have a bad habit of pulling it every which way); Buddy Holly-esque eye glasses; hot pink fuzzy slippers; blue plaid capri pajama pants; black t-shirt; and a horrendous Oriental red kimono print robe; dragging a kitchen chair down the balcony to watch the cars. There's an image.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear - but Santa Claus himself booking ass down the side of the road. Seriously, runnin' like Forrest for all he's worth. And then, not 300 yards behind him come two cop cars at about 10 miles per hour chasing him. Not a real ardent chase - they had the lights on and would woop-woop every now and then - but they didn't seem terribly concerned. Ol' Santa made it down to the Burger King - with cops in tow - before I lost site of him - but it was just one of the strangest things.
I was standing there in my mental patient get-up wondering if I REALLY just saw that, or if maybe my puddin' was smokin' - or maybe I had smoked the puddin' and forgotten about it.
And this is not even tellin' you about Wendigo that barked in the library and bathed in the car wash - or the Disciple of Sandra that used to ride the bus and brandish raw hot dogs while shouting "Praise Sandra!!!" at the top of his lungs.
I really should write a sit-com... Between my family and the characters I meet I should have enough to write about 'til the Mothership returns to take us all home.
Mercy sakes alive....
More to come, I'm sure.
