On the way to Cape May. . .

I'm down the shore, and I love it!

Actually I feel a little like crap. My throat is swollen, I'm tired, I want to hide from my family.

Not all my family - not the babies. My cousins have the cutest kids in the world. And I've only seen one of them, because the rest are tired and napping when I'm awake, and vice versa.

This is a boring post. My apologies. I'm in an internet cafe and time is running out.

A bientot.

It's nice to be noticed.

Anyone who has ever taken a writing class has been strongly encouraged to do at least one of the following things daily:

1. Write down your dreams.
2. While out in public, describe your surroundings in a journal.
3. While out in public, eavesdrop on a conversation and write it down, word for word.
4. For half an hour, don't stop writing. Get all the junk out of your head so you can write the real stuff later.

All good advice. All great brainstorming techniques. I am embarrassed to do most of them most of the time because I will invariably make up stories about the people around me, and if they were to read over my shoulder, I would be devastated.

On my way into work, I was sitting next to a man who was engaging in some such writing exercise. He was writing about me. I was almost flattered, but then again, I was the closest person to the guy. Naturally I read over his shoulder. It said something like:

She was wearing a necklace of yellow beads, a denim skirt, sunglasses. She was likely on her way to work like the rest of us. Reddish hair...she boarded at Roslindale Square. She seemed -

That's all I got! Of course it's nice to know that somebody was looking at me at all, taking note of the details to which I devote so much time in the morning, but I was just getting to the first impressions bit. What vibe do I send out when I'm sitting on the T? That man was going to tell me, however unintentionally, and I was going to know at last if I really look as much like a bitch in public as I feel I do.

As you might have guessed, it was at that point that the bus stopped at Forest Hills and I had no choice but to leave.

Check it out!

I've always wanted to be a new kid on the block. Now, obviously, I am.

More later ... I swear I'm more interesting than anybody's first blog entry can make them seem.