a vestige of thought...

Technically a scriptorium is a room set apart for writing, as in a place in a monestary where monks copied documents, but for now I shall pretend that it is a notebook. After all a notebook is a place where I write, just as a room is a place where I write only in a different sense.

I bought a cute purple striped notebook at Walmart yesterday after realizing that I had forgotten to bring a notebook of any kind other than my journal. The reason that I forgot to bring one was that I had gotten rid of very many of my old notebooks with only about 10 pages left that hadn't been ripped out in my cleaning frenzy and my good notebooks were hidden away in a desk drawer. So I bought this fresh new one and I (ambitiously) hope to fill the entire thing this week. I have been in a writing mood for weeks, but lacking in time to write myself out. This week I'm going to have at it. : )

There is nothing on TV on Sunday mornings except infomercials and self-promoting preacher people like Joel Osteen. That man disgusts me. I hear he's signed a huge deal for a second book. His first book was Your Best Life Now, so I'm curious what his second one is going to be. Oops, I forgot to tell you this one other thing you can to do to make your life the best: Buy my second book so I can have more money. Pshaw.

What is so special about Egyptian cotton? I've come to dislike it because every time I see or hear the words I get that obnoxious song from Uptown Girls stuck in my head. "Na na na na na na na na na... sheets of Egyptian cotton!" Blech.

I think I'll go enjoy the sea breeze from the upper deck.