You'd think that after a while I'd either learn to write stuff down (god knows I have as many digital devices as I do pens to store notes on), or conclude that my ideas weren't impressive enough or important enough to warrant remembering. But the scale on which this happens can be staggering; I've fleshed out rough drafts for entire term papers in my head while on the road, and sat staring at a blank word processor for hours when I got home; I've had wonderful, inspired-feeling ideas for blog posts that are gone by the time I drag my lazy ass to a computer. I'm sure everyone's been through this.
|AKA the ubiquitous childhood experience.|
|What a douche.|
But you know what? Fuck it. This blog is suposed to be about "practical magic and self-transformation", and the most practical thing I can do today kill two birds with one stone, swallow my pride, and start taking notes. I'm sure it seems like a tiny step to some, but I'm working through 20-odd years of being conditioned otherwise. I feel accomplished today.
Now where's that damn notebook?