quirks
I like checking in to a room where the person before me is just as crazy as I am. Personally I don’t cover the peephole as I don’t feel like I’m a high priority subject in the desperate for a warped view of human flesh while staying in a hotel community. (that brutally long sentence was brought to you by the fact that I couldn’t think of a clever thing to call someone who peeps through doors as I feel that peeping Tom is an unfair overgeneralization) I am in no way selling myself short because if I found a demand I would start an OF account just for the extra income as there is no shame in personal tastes. Okay, that took a turn. I did have to get a tissue to remove that tissue because I have no idea what was involved in the shaping of that particular privacy device.
Upon further inspection the rest of the room passed my normal series of tests. I’m getting better at keeping my quirks at bay but battling your brain is a bitch. My main problem is that once I learn something I have trouble shutting it down. The whole airport men’s room floors being disgusting has lead to my backpack having its own traveling shroud as it rides under the seat in front of me while I’m flying.
I got some looks from the dude seated next to me and I think he even journaled about it in his hand written notebook. He was the flashiest jotter of notes I’ve ever witnessed. His computer was open the entire flight and every time inspiration struck he made a big deal out of extracting the notebook and fountain pen from his disgusting touching the floor bag only to put it back again. On our four hour flight intellectual lightning struck no less than a dozen times and after each one I wondered why he just didn’t keep it in his lap.
If he was writing about me amongst all of the other nonsense in that book then I hope I helped open his eyes to the potential amounts of human waste particles soaking into his man bag satchel thing. Okay enough about my particular peccadilloes. Well wait, one more…
The dude on the plane did get me thinking about writing and my own habits. I’ve already talked about the fact that I write every day but I don’t think I’ve explained where and how. I do a five minute straight off the top of my head handwritten journal on these tiny little notebooks that I reread once I fill them up then I throw them away. I have no desire for my kids to discover a pile of random written material that doesn’t even make sense to the author a day after writing. That’s what this weekly thing is for. This started out as proof of life when I ran away from home after the divorce. A way for people to know that I was still around menacing a different part of the planet. Not a bunch of deep thoughts although now that I think about it I might have drifted now and again. It’s also a place to document weird things that I experience as well as my own stupidity.
The final writing I do is on my phones notes. That is where I address things that are on my mind, I process problems, and collect things to work out later. If you are one of my children reading this know that most of that mess is processing. I try to clean it up once a month but like any good mess it sometimes gets away from me. I write to help make sense of my life in every form I just mentioned. Maybe I should get a showy journal and a giant silver fountain pen so I can make a bigger show of the process? something to consider.