seriously?

So, there I am, tucked into my car, driving to pick up kiddos from camp. Bad knee propped to the left, radio cranked, windows up, AC blasting. And then a song comes on. A song I love but I only hear like...once a year. For some reason, this time when I hear my yearly dose, my brain does this awesome thing where it flings an entire plot line, setting and character at me based on the song title. And I quite literally yell, "Yeah!" and dig, one-handed in my purse for my writing pad. Find it. Then I delve back in for a pen. No pen. I try again...no pen. Meanwhile music is still cranked, I am swerving all over the place, left knee is in spasm and I am praying I do not get pulled over. How! How does a writer (for fuck's sake) not have a pen? One measly pen.

I keep digging. Nope. No pen. I have my pad but that is pretty much useless without a pen (or at least an eyeliner which I...you guessed it...did not have, either). Finally, I pull over, throw myself over the passenger seat and start digging through the door pocket on that side because girl child has been known to put her pens in there. Eureka! I found one. Actually, I found three.

Saved by the girl child.

I jot down my notes, put one pen back in pocket, other two I put in my purse. When I got home I dumped four more in there. From zero to six pens in one afternoon. When I dig one up I am throwing an eyeliner in there, too. Just to be safe.

And hey, speaking of eyeliner (and makeup in general) look at me and GW all Kindled and whatnot.

XOXO
Sommer