A Little Ink Blot

The best ideas seem to come my way in the middle of the afternoon. Usually like a flash flood when I am inconveniently separated from any writing instrument. Inspiration struck a dozen times today while I was at a funeral. A nice quiet place to jot down the odd thoughts, you think? Not while shushing the three year old on my lap. Nor while chasing 4 suddenly released locomotives in tennis shoes round and round the tables of old people noisily eating the reception meal. Not while pushing the grocery cart afterwards. Nor while accidentally napping with the yearling to the sounds of Toy Story. Not even while washing dishes after everyone else is asleep.

Now, at 1:30 am, I can finally sit down and write, and all the ideas are gone, washed away with the suds and scum of the day. I am so tired, I can hardly review the events of the day to capture the moments of inspiration still possibly stored in my mental RAM. Somewhere in there are some great points on a research topic Ted is persuing, and a few poignant comments on the psychological strategies of Motherhood, and a set of character studies to explore from the shoulders rubbed at the memorial service, and a new plot for a book about death.

Maybe it will all come back to me tomorrow.