A Writing We Will Go

So, I decided. To write. Letter.Note. Netter? Portmanteau. The hunt began. Had to find a pen. Pen had to have some ink in it. Nib had to be unbroken. Found! Glory. A battle won. The war, however remained. Needed paper. Parchment. Papyrus, where art thou? Obtained! Another kingdom conquered. I was on a roll. Sat myself in comfortable position. Favored beverage close at hand. Sara crooning to me. Ready.

Nib touched paper. My eyes opened in wonder. Wow. It started drizzling. The Gods themselves had opened a heavenly peephole to witness this rare event. Human writing letter by hand. I ignored them. Task at hand. Gritted my teeth. Furrowed brow. The rusty brain began noisily. Tongue slightly out. A la Michael. I went forward bravely. Began. Wrote. Wrote. Wrote. Stopped to wipe sweat from forehead. Wrote. Wrote. Wrote. I had to stop again. Like going to the gym after 7 years. Pooped. Word count. Nine. This was hard work. Not my forte. Must. Carry. On. I proceeded. Finished both sides of one sheet. The hand ached. The brain pained. I was done.

Spellcheck. Innocent thought. F7. No! Not available. Eepers! I was done for. Got over it. Looked again. Some lines went northeast, others showed a propensity for the south. The handwriting although never the best looked like it had been forced out of retirement while in the middle of a siesta. Egad! For a second, I entertained thoughts of a Control A, change font to Arial. 'No can do, Sir', said the letter. Got over it. Again.

Fine. Now the sending. Resources? Envelope? Nope. Stamps? A snowball in hell had a better chance. Panic. Suddenly. In the field of vision. A familiar silver-grey object. Scanner, baybeeee. Fancy me. Did the needful (describing scanning is trite). Emailed it as an attachment (do you feel more at home with that statement, Oh 5 people who read this blog?).

I was exhausted. Planned a vacation. Took a nap.

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