I feel really strange right now…like I’m not really here.

But I do have this story to tell:

While my friend and her mom were getting their nails done, I was writing in my notebook. I take it with me everywhere, even if I have a doctor’s appointment, because without it I feel incomplete. Even if I don’t write anything down, I never regret luggin it under my arm or in my purse. This woman was talking with my friend and her mom up at the stations while watching the news. When she came to the dryers, she asked me what I was writing. I told her it was a love triangle story. She asked if I ever sent anything I’ve written in to see if it would get published and I told her no. Since I told her I write for myself, she suggested getting some of my stuff bound. I have thought about it but my “vision” was to hole punch it and throw it in a binder. After that we sort of went off talking about pets but when she left, she wished me luck with my story. It’s just one of those things were some random stranger telling me to keep doing something I enjoy (though not what I want a career of) opens my eyes. I somehow have this different perspective about what I do that really isn’t so different from how I’ve always seen it -it’s just been expanded on.

I think I have an idea for our plane trip now. I just need to waste 40 bucks on some ink and 15 on a hole-punch. The ball will roll from there.