Monday morning. I've been toting around a notebook all weekend in which I jot down random blog ideas. Sometimes, I go back and read them and have a hard time deciphering what I'm meant to write about. Like when you wake up in the middle of the night to write down a dream.
"Fat man on Kenilworth" - ok, well, that one's pretty self-explanatory.
"Being told how to dance" - hmmm, something to do with Mambo No.5 I think.
"Hug from inside out" - that just sounds gross.
I will later today go through these and post some more. But right now, I'm still feeling a little woozy and light-headed from giving blood this morning. Actually, that's misleading. I did not donate my blood for the greater good of humanity even though "it is in me to give". Instead, I was ordered to do so by my doctor and put it off for 4 weeks. I hate needles so much, but always end up feeling like a baby and sheepishly apologizing to the nurse for (maybe) overreacting.
But, overreaction or not, there are no worse words to start a Monday morning with than, "This is tough - your vein's a mover". Especially on an empty stomach.