I think I got some pollen wedged in my synapses

I had an idea on the way home and I was going to tell you about it but the truly astonishing (I'd say exceptional but it really isn't, although lord knows *I* take exception to it) amount of tree sex going on in my head is preventing coherent thought from happening.  Although apparently it isn't preventing run-on sentences.

It's been three days of tree sex now and frankly I'm tired of it.  Oh sure, it's pretty.  I like flowery external sexual organs as much as the next girl.  But every time I sniff that delightful fresh spring air, it feels as if somebody has hit me in the temple with a hammer.  My legs feel like I am wearing lead shoes while, simultaneously, my arms feel as if balloons are attached to them.  And, of course, I'm dumb.  My thoughts bubble up and then drift off into the void without connecting with anything else first.  Several times today I thought of something, started to tell someone, and then forgot what the thing was before I had gotten three words out.

Anyway, the idea.  I remembered it again.   First, let me tell you what it felt like.  (If I still remember the idea after that, I'll tell you.  Otherwise make something up.)  Do you ever get an idea, and then you're immediately embarrassed that you only just thought of it?  This happens to me all the time.  It's as if I have stepped in poop, and complained about it all day, and tracked it everywhere, and then finally after eight hours it finally occurs to me to CLEAN MY SHOE.   (I would like to say that this particular example of a late idea would not happen, but with all the tree sex going on I can't really make extravagant claims like that.)

I have heard that when other people get ideas they feel happy, or proud, or smart.  I am only embarrassed.  Possibly this means I am incredibly arrogant.  I may have been faking humility to myself all these years. 

Or, maybe, I'm kinda slow.

Anyway.

My idea is that I should get off my duff and start writing.  I started this blog last year with the intention of writing it for a year.  To make sure I had the endurance to write a book.  In retrospect, that's ludicrous.  I could have been ACTUALLY WRITING A BOOK. 

I can thank eArThworm for this revelation.  She gave me a lovely compliment yesterday.  She said she wished I had something to write a book about.  I think that's what she said, anyway.  It was along those lines.  It got me to thinking.  I had a fairly interesting thruhike, I thought.  What with the dead guy and the tick and the stubby legs.  But I didn't finish.  Who would want to read about an unfinished hike?  Because I was originally going to write about my thruhike, which ended up being only a reeeally long section hike.

But hell, that Bill Bryson guy didn't finish his hike either, and I hear his book did pretty well.

This morning I reread some of this blog (of which there is rather a lot, now) and I crack myself up.  (Yeah, probably erring on the side of arrogance.  I'm going to have to given up my pretense of humility.)   I'm thinking I'll just keep doing that, writing things that I like.  Except I won't immediately set it all free on the Internet.  I'll hold some back.  And then, eventually, perhaps it will coalesce into something that somebody might want to read all at one go.