Dang! What the hell do I write?

Herself writes every day. Each morning she gets up, grabs a glass of orange juice and writes 3 pages in her big black journal. I don't read it. It's her thing. The stuff of hers that I have read is fabulous. She's, quite possibly, the best writer I've ever read. She's an editor and has a degree in English and Literature from a fabulous university.

Me? Mornings? They're like this: Out of bed, potty, dog's gotta go out, pour coffee for me, dog's gotta go out, Pour coffee for Herself, dog's gotta go out, Look at dog, She's REALLY gotta go out. Drink a glass of water. "Hey! Does the dog have to go out?" Take the dog out (Let the cat in.). Get the paper. Give the dog her vitamin and her medicine (incontience, she's old) Print my homework. Have another cup of coffee Start the eggs/oatmeal/cream of wheat/cereal/french toast/breakfast burritos or whateverthehell I make for breakfast. Check email. Pack lunches for herself and I. Have another cup of coffee. Have breakfast with Herself. Have another cup of coffee. Spend 2.75 seconds contemplating how awesome Herself is. Head out the door.

As you can see, I write at night.

I'm trying to stick to my "Blog every day!" promise. It's pretty hard when my brain is full of A&P homework, stress about finals and worries about my grade.

What does this have to do with EMS, me becoming a medic or any of that stuff? Nothing.

Bah!

--maddog