Here I am again. Sitting at Panera. Drinking….. dare I say it……..
A pumpkin spice latte.
It’s approximately the seventh pumpkin spice latte that I have ever indulged in. And it’s pretty okay.
My plan was to come here today and write. To feel the need to write about something.
I yearn to need.
Someone said once that good writers borrow and great writers steal, so don’t be surprised if the rest of this post blatantly rips off To Kill a Mockingbird mixed with some Huckleberry Finn.
Must have been abouts thirteen when my friend Jim broke his arm. Some of the time we’d get to discussin what led him to crack it clean open. I always tell him that clever liar Tom Sawyer started it all.
There was a Sean Bean voiceover in my head when I wrote that.
But before winter comes fall has to come. Fall is the season of nostalgia.
It was this time last year that I drank coffee with so and so and we talked about that one thing or when I was a kid I used to jump in leaf piles just like the ones he’s raking or I remember hating candy corn this time last year just as much as I do now if not more.
We look back on the past fondly but dread the future instead of focusing on trying to make more fond pasts to look back on. At least I do.
Did you know in Norway in reference to a lot of rain they say “It’s raining female trolls,” or in Ireland they say “It’s throwing cobblers knives.”
This blog post wasn’t about anything but that’s what happens when I force myself to write.
So here’s what you get, 298 word dribbles.