In Fiction...

Sometimes I'll be sitting in class and the teacher or one of my classmates will say something that I want to relate to all of you in the blogging public, so I write it down. The problem lies in the fact that my notes for classes are so cluttered with absent minded doodles and rambles and lyrics that I can't decipher the blog thoughts from the nonsense. Tells you something about my writing on here, doesn't it? Anyway, I tried writing on the corner of stuff and then shoving those scraps of paper into my purse or pocket. The problem with this method was that I always lost them. So, I thought, "What do I have at the computer everytime I sit down?" The only logical answer was my hands. Now, this method isn't fool-proof because I also have this habit of writing my daily "to-do" list on the outside of my hand so my hand usually end up looking something like this:

Beautiful, isn't it? Anyways, the outside of my hand get pretty cluttered but usually that's okay, I can just write on the inside. Well, my fiction class is always a vault of ideas cased for robbing and when I went tonight I got about three ideas on my palm within the first thirty minutes (3 hour class - ouch). Now this is pretty normal. I'll usually just stick with those three maybe adding little notes or whatever. The problem was the heat in my damn fiction class. It was so damn hot that the writing on my hand rubbed right off. "Well, Alysia, you silly milly poop head, just write it on the other side." Um, yeah that side was full. Also, by the time I noticed that it was rubbing off it was indecipherable. It wouldn't have come off so quickly on a normal person but I have an obsession with having soft hands so I compulsively put on lotion, causing the surface of my hands to be just a wee bit more sweating when it's mutha-f'ing hot. Sorry, kids, I can remember that I was excited about one of my hand blogs but now all I can remember is my teacher's theories on women's roles in Realism.