I'm in bed back home in Indiana, in my old bedroom that's no longer my room but still sorta feels like my room, after seeing a great show tonight in Indianapolis (Brandi Carlile & Ray LaMontagne, but more on that tomorrow, I promise.)
I'm sleepy, and it's technically Wednesday already, but dammit! I refuse to miss another day in my writing experiment, and since I haven't gone to bed yet it still counts. I'm in the mood to write another long, winding sentence inspired by the "things that stand out clear as pictures in our head."
When I first tried my man E.B. White's little experiment, it was about a year ago, and I was here in this same room. Funny how everything can change so drastically in one year in so many ways, and in many other ways nothing changes at all.
So if, right now, I were to once again, write about the things that really interested me in the past week, those things that “stand out clear as pictures in our head,” I'd probably discuss: the way I get so caught up in my own brain as I walk to and from work, sometimes I wonder if maybe I'm talking to myself out loud, and not actually just in my head, and every other pedestrian on the street hears my innermost thoughts; Brandi Carlile's suspenders; how my daydreams vary from thoughts of vinyl to a book deal to finally figuring out myself and everyone around me to owning Wonder Woman lipstick; and how I am in a passionate, but possibly unilateral, love/hate relationship with the city of Chicago, and how I only allow myself to admit that when I spend a night back in Indiana.
What a horrible, wonderful sentence that was to write. And now I feel both horrible and wonderful. Good night, good luck, whatever.