blob: 024d18b509388777e9e4bca4c1e945f250137d70 (
plain)
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
|
---
title: Notes
genre: prose
project:
title: "Buildings out of air: Paul in the Woods"
css: paul
order: 8
next:
- title: Shed
link: shed
- title: Options
link: options
previous:
- title: Writing
link: writing
- title: Man
link: man
...
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
```type
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.
```
|
