Suzy was dead-set on getting to work on time this morning, which meant that my lazy ass got the covers pulled off of it with the chirping of the alarm at 7:15. We made great time on the road this morning, only 20 minutes to get to the train station and another ten to get to my desk, so I have a few minutes to write an entry before my workday begins.

Yesterday Jean introduced me to her friend's new blog, daVinci's Notes on Diner Napkin, vol. 1. Her writing appeals to me in much the same way that Bill Bryson or Joey DeVilla's does: she has a knack for writing amusing anecdotes out of the most germane life experiences. And in her case its not being an accordion-player rock-star or month-long perils in the wilderness of the AT: she's making lesbian love-shacks in the Sims game.

There's an obvious amusement that she and others like her manage to weave into these stories that makes me wonder why I don't have the same ability. I love what I do, but I could never imbue the same sort of offhanded chuckle-at-life into a narrative about my day. Does that imply something lacking in my life, or is it just that they're very good at finding the things that may slip through the cracks of my perception and expressing them to people like me?

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