typig and long fingernails just don't get along...typing*

It is a constant rueful realization of mine that I'm not as funny as I believe I am.  To help myself feel better, I think of something funny.  Luckily, me and myself have the same sense of humor so this works.  Also, I am sometimes plagued by indecision.  Like how I started this post five different ways before I settled for the mediocre opening that now opens it.


It has been so long since my--first and last--post, that I forgot what the url of my blog was and had to try a couple different names before I remembered "scribblesbymeg".  Since I forgot this, I can't imagine that anyone else is still checking; Amy assured me that she checked for new posts all the time, which made me feel both guilty and flattered.  But I'm pretty sure that even she, avid supporter that she is, has given up on checking this particular page.


Nevertheless, I post all the same.  I'm starting my New Years' Resolution Number One (Post Regularly On My Blog) early.  Which probably means that I'll forget about it BEFORE New Years' rather than by the week after.


TODAY'S POST


I just got too bored and under such circumstances whatever I wrote about would be boring.  I'll finish tomorrow.

airplane musings

What is wrong with everyone?!  Do they not realize that I am a twelve year old girl and shouldn't be going to college?  I remember delving into college brochures when I was in third grade.  I feel younger now than I was then.  I feel scared and miserable and like a homeless cat in a rainstorm in Canada.  But then again I look out of my airplane window and see the sun setting over purple and blue wisps in the sky, and suddenly I feel like absolutely every molecule of the earth would burst into a smile with me if I just follow my dreams. Funny how I didn't realize quite how big the world was until now, when I have the freedom to go capture it.  What's a puny little blonde girl that gives her belongings human names got that will add to mountains and wind? 

I keep noticing the sunsets these days, like I feel a particular kinship to the time when the light gets softer, the colors start meshing easily into each other, as my summer and childhood too softens and becomes a meshing of warm memories.  And then I remember how young I am and I know that somewhere a 150-year-old read my thoughts via telepathy and is laughing the same way I laugh when my little brother uses multi-syllabic words.

  Strange how a window seat airplane flight is one of the most beautiful experiences while waiting for one is miserable.  I swear, if you're looking for a center of anti sociality, the airport is the place to go.  The first time I flew alone, I was sure that I would meet some soon-to-be life-long friend in the terminal or on the flight.  That's what happens in all the movies, right?  Everyone talks about how love isn't like how it is in the movies, but no one ever mentions the delusions of airplane bonding.  What a bitter rude awakening it was when I went a flight without speaking a single WORD to the man sitting next to me.  Granted, he had some fatty economics book with which he was apparently enthralled.  What's human interaction to gross income and revenue and whatever the heck else was in his version of a dirty novel?  I didn't stand a chance.  

That was an aisle seat plane ride.