Stream of consciousness

I drove home yesterday and almost didn't remember the way. Driving always renews the writer in me. I have time to just think and digest. I come up with great things I want to write about and write entire stories in my head, but then when it comes time to actually write them down I only remember parts of them, and they are not nearly as good as what I remember them to be. These are the tidbits that I remember. Maybe one of these days I'll sit down and finish writing the entire stories, but for now these few disconnected lines will just have to keep you occupied...

I dreamed about saving a seagull last night. I had to use a bucket because no one wanted me to touch him. After saving him from the water and getting him upright in the bucket he told me I did a lousy job....

When i think about all the funerals I have attended, I always associate them with some sensory memory in cars. A conversation, a smell, even seeing something that doesn't belong. I'm not sure I even remember the funeral, just the memories in the car. The new car smell mixed with leather reminds me of my grandfather's funeral, and a dark lonely drive with one lone set of brake lights miles ahead of you reminds me of my grandmother's....

He wants to live his life like a country song, full of crazy abandon, gravel roads, and home-cooking...

It's hard to change first impressions. There are times though when I'm interacting with someone and my eyes are opened to what they really look like. Or what they really stand for. Usually it results in me staring at them, overwhelmed and awestruck by the connections my brain just made. This happened recently when my Professor was talking about poop....