I often scribble notes to myself. Generally these notes make sense both
at the time I scribble them and then years later when I find
them crumpled in the corner of forgotten bureau drawers and boxes.
Sometimes, however, the notes defy logical explanation. For example,
the following, found scribbled on notepaper I'm fairly
certain dates from the time I was living in Italy:
- bug-city girls
- Marilyn Monroe
- computer - Sai come ti voglio bene
- Tosca in morning
Heck if I know what I was on about. I'm not sure I knew when I wrote it, let alone now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment