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Writers were the kids that got caught passing notes in class. The ones that lobbied hard for the SAT to get an essay portion. We are the champs that are always rethinking the title for our autobiography, and we will befriend other writers so that someday in the distant future, someone fantastic can help our less wordgasm and saddened family members write our obituaries and make the aisles laugh with tears in their eyes at our funerals.

So when a blogger or an author says, “I have something to day,” and starts typing, no one doubts this.

Today, words fail me, but I can’t stop thinking that I want to say something so I will bumble through it so that I can have something of a satisfaction from having a thought come out of my head in a neat little cookie cutter cloud bubble.

I would hesitate to call this a bad day or a great day, but merely a different kind of day that can be seen as an opportunity or a catastrophe depending on who you ask. Overly simplistic is the person who could call today one or the other, although we do, and I am guilty of that myself.

I don’t want to get into specifics. Nobody died and no one was born, but there are two things I can say for certain: When it was all said and done, there was an awkward exit on my part, and while I’m going through different emotions right now, the overwhelmingly consistent one is the fact that I didn’t get any white cheddar popcorn.

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