there is a lot of graffiti on my train of thought
I’ve received so many emails in the last week asking me if I would be so kind as to describe to my faithful readers just how I come up with the amusing entries that I post. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve not received any more than five emails asking, I didn’t actually count, but it was around five.
I’m sort of getting embarrassed now. I only received one email asking me. But, as I value that one email, oh so much, I will grace the sender with a response.
I’m going to give you a sampling of how my mind operates. From 1:45 till 1:48, I kept track of all of the miscelaneous thoughts that entered the brain that is the hub of Rebecca Marie. Let’s have a look, shall we?
I wonder what my fish’s bloodworm food smells like. How come I have voice mail on my phone, I swear I never walked away from it. I wonder how old those cough drops are. When did my lightbulb burn out. How many file folders can I cut through at once. I wish my stapler would run out of staples so that I could fill it back up. That boy who just walked down the hall smells like outside. I like the lead that you put in mechanical pencils. Why did the tator tot make that noise when Napoleon bit into it. On that note that I wrote over there is that an e or an o. I like The Three Amigos, I should go to eBay and buy it. I wish I had some pretzels to bite the salt off of. That candle sure smells good. I prefer the old stamps that you lick. I wish I had hair things here to put my piggie tails in. My lips are dry. Oh, there’s my lip balm. Why did Seann Hammond not notice that there were two post-it notes when he stuck that on my monitor. Probably because two is a theme with him. Two ns in Seann, two ms in Hammond. He’d probably like the way I double up on my ls. My phone sure is dusty. I wonder if there are any new mug shots on The Smoking Gun.
I swear, that is three minutes of thought. Somebody help me. Wait, no, don’t. I do enjoy my very own insanity.
arrivederci, rebecca marie
p.s. they say confession is good for the soul (whoever they are). no one sent me an email like that at all. i think everyone is afraid to find out how my mind works. can't say i blame them.
I’m sort of getting embarrassed now. I only received one email asking me. But, as I value that one email, oh so much, I will grace the sender with a response.
I’m going to give you a sampling of how my mind operates. From 1:45 till 1:48, I kept track of all of the miscelaneous thoughts that entered the brain that is the hub of Rebecca Marie. Let’s have a look, shall we?
I wonder what my fish’s bloodworm food smells like. How come I have voice mail on my phone, I swear I never walked away from it. I wonder how old those cough drops are. When did my lightbulb burn out. How many file folders can I cut through at once. I wish my stapler would run out of staples so that I could fill it back up. That boy who just walked down the hall smells like outside. I like the lead that you put in mechanical pencils. Why did the tator tot make that noise when Napoleon bit into it. On that note that I wrote over there is that an e or an o. I like The Three Amigos, I should go to eBay and buy it. I wish I had some pretzels to bite the salt off of. That candle sure smells good. I prefer the old stamps that you lick. I wish I had hair things here to put my piggie tails in. My lips are dry. Oh, there’s my lip balm. Why did Seann Hammond not notice that there were two post-it notes when he stuck that on my monitor. Probably because two is a theme with him. Two ns in Seann, two ms in Hammond. He’d probably like the way I double up on my ls. My phone sure is dusty. I wonder if there are any new mug shots on The Smoking Gun.
I swear, that is three minutes of thought. Somebody help me. Wait, no, don’t. I do enjoy my very own insanity.
arrivederci, rebecca marie
p.s. they say confession is good for the soul (whoever they are). no one sent me an email like that at all. i think everyone is afraid to find out how my mind works. can't say i blame them.
proclaimed by rebecca marie at 3:23 PM
5 flattering compliments:
If only you could type faster. I KNOW there was more than that. I KNOW IT. Like, you totally forgot about....
right-o. the only problem? i already type faster than practically anyone that i know, and if you wanna know the truth, i didn't want to frighten anyone.
I just found your blog and I. Can't. Stop. Reading. It. Help. Me. Please!
I'm fascinated... Write a book - I'll buy it, I swear.
BTW, you look just like my best friend from high school... Freaky. I miss her.
Fatty!!! Whoooooo are you? Who Who, Who Who! (please hear me singing that to you rather than just read the words, you're getting a serenade you lucky luck). I actually am writing, two books, and if only I knew who you were, I'd send you signed copies when I finally get them done! E-mail me! rebecca-marie@hotmail.com Also, this is not my real name (well, not all of it), so... could I be your missing friend? Who knows.....
even scarier than your thought flow...it all made perfect sense to me. i mean...to the point where i was like "what's odd about that??" i can't tell you how often people respond to things i say with "where did THAT come from?!?!" and i think..."helooo! can't you keep up?"
Glad i'm not the only one.
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