Notes

Paul began typing on notecards. Somehow this felt right to his sensibilities. It was difficult to get the little cards into the typewriter. It was a pain to readjust the typewriter for regular paper when he wasn’t writing. He started typing everything on those little notecards: grocery lists, letters to his grandmother, even reports for work (which is what got him in trouble).

But this was all later. For now he was writing his ideas, “notes” he now called them, something for him to combine later into something. He didn’t like to think about it. On this particular cold winter morning, he wrote

Woke up from a dream I was famous.
    One of the more famous people in
    fact.  I had written something
    everyone could relate to and at
    the same time proved my parents
    wrong.  Because I made a lot of
    money.  Or not a lot, but enough
    and more than they thought I
    would.  It was a good day.
    Woke up this morning and I was
    still cold.  Still Paul.  Still not
    good at furniture.