Sometimes at night I dream that I'm wearing a black polo shirt and golf shorts and am between the legs of a statuesque woman wearing a red bikini with hair like Gloria Borger.
Oh wait, that really happened.
And yeah, I never called.
On those non Gloria Borger nights, I occasionally lie awake at night worrying about something I'm supposed to remember to do the next day. Or I come up with an idea, or a phrase, or an image for my blog. Since the memory isn't what it used to be, I can't depend on the old grey matter to conjure up the thought in the morning. So I get out of bed, go to the bathroom, get the tablet and pen out of the drawer, and write down the thought, my to do list, where to find the photo, and so on. Then in the morning, I look at the note pad, and say to myself, "Oh, I knew that already".
I looked at my note pad this morning and saw that I had written: "Do you really want a tall Nordic former underwear model cutting the ribbon at the tattoo removal studio in the county home for the aged? Hell yes! "
Presumably last night it made perfect sense.
It scares me a little to think about what you don't write down.
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