Neverending Blue

I started writing something yesterday, but I never finished. Now, I've lost it. That is my least favorite thing.

I wrote this on July 30 at 9:57 P.M.:

"I just found something on my hand and tasted it to see what it was. When did I become someone who indiscriminately ingests substances I find on my skin? It was A1 sauce."

I let things pile up in my office. Stacks and stacks of things sit there undisturbed. In some future excavation, the disctinct strata may reveal to scientists and diggers much about me and who I was at those times. It's disconcerting.

Sometimes, I'm looking for stamps or something I know I saved, and I come across words I scribbled on the envelope my insurance bill came in. Or I see a phone number I keep losing. Or a magazine I never finished reading. I'm just a mess of distraction. And I need more drawers.

I watched Bowling for Columbine last night, at long last.