Sometimes, I know exactly what I want to write. I'm in tune with my reader, and with my other reader, and I don't dither and watch "American Dad" until it's too late to come up with anything new or worthwhile.
Every once in a great while, I have Too Much Material, and I end up failing to write anything, simply because I couldn't pick from the myriad of great ideas.
The memories are coming fast and thick, now, and I can't stop them.
Should I write about:
The control room of the Haunted Mansion ride in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware - and the horrific crimes I witnessed there, when the power went out on the ride, and I got lost, trying to follow the glow-in-the dark emergency evacuation route signs. No one believed me at the time, so I very much doubt that anyone will take my word for it, now. I'm pretty sure even my therapists have dismissed my account of that night as some sort of paranoid delusion of imagined ultraviolence. So, never mind.
During the 1993 Storm of The Century, I sold urine to a desperate George W. Bush for $700,000, in the rest room of a Petro truck stop near "South of The Border," on I-95 in South Carolina. Say what you will about the guy, but he seemed really cool, that morning. Check bounced to hell and back. Lesson learned. Wanna hear about that? No? I'm not surprised.
How about my Spring Break 1988 hook-up with MTV's Tabitha Soren? My back starts to hurt when I think about that night. I called it a life-altering, near-death experience. Apparently, she called it "Thursday." [Note: I didn't know who she was until much later, but somehow, she knew all about me.] No - I don't have pictures or video. Oh, I see how it is. Fine.
There was the mystery of the poop in the hall, and the 3rd floor of residence tower "D" at Towson State, following the 1988-1989 Christmas break - a mystery, I might add, that was never solved. Yeah - I don't have a whole lot of interest in rehashing that crap, either.
Maybe I should tell you about The One Who Got Away. [Maris] is asleep, so I'm pretty sure she'd never know. It was the stuff of epic romance, of rom-coms, of Ross & Rachel, Ren & Stimpy, and Heathcliff and whats-her-face. Ha ha ha I'm kidding; she didn't get away! It's [Maris]! Duh!
Okay that's enough good night.