The moon is out
Showing her new face
Pooling all in darkness
Hiding

I had a wonderful entry written in my head on the way to work. It was about writing. Of course, I can't remember any of it now, but it was beautiful.

I've always wanted to write. I've always loved reading and writing, interacting with and being enveloped by the written word. I speak to myself in complete sentences. My internal monologue would be wonderful to record, if only it chose to divulge itself while I was somewhere near a pen..

I was chuckling at myself yesterday.
I was trying to type normal and spelled it norlam. Made me giggle.

Then the hubby says dryly, 'oh yeah? you know what I type every day? thnaks.' (and in case he's reading this, that isn't really an exact quote, I can't remember exactly how he said it, but that was the gist).

I cannot express the extreme set of giggles thinking about thnaks gives me. First, for those who aren't keeping up, it should be thanks. But it's not. It's thnaks.

'Want thome thnaks?'
'Thcooby thnaks?'

I've decided I'm a total wackjob.

I was at counseling yesterday, and just about busted myself open laughing when I realized I'd used dichotomy in a sentence. I mean, how often do you get to throw dichotomy out in a coversation? It was great!

The trouble with keeping a journal and not burning it, is that you can go back and read it later.

Alright, I admit, being able to do that isn't all bad. I mean, there is the chance that you've grown. But more often than not, you look back, read what you wrote, and mumble, 'Oh my, I was so stupid then.', or worse, 'Oh geez, I am still that stupid.'