I have this irrational fear that when I take my shirt off in my room, my arms are going to hit the ceiling fan. If I stand on my flat feet and extend my hands up as far as I can reach, I’m still a couple inches short. Yet every single time I take off my shirt, I have a little worry that I’ll hit the fan.
I’m less than a week away from Dubai. My suitcases are mostly packed. They’re old suitcases, not new lightweight ones. One is leather, at least it looks like leather. The other is a Samsonite case, probably from some time in the seventies. I thought about buying new luggage. I just couldn’t justify the cost for the one trip. I assume I can always buy it later if I need it.
I’ve found that I enjoy sending postcards more than I like receiving them. I’ve also found that I like giving gifts more than I like receiving them. It’s odd, because I still like getting postcards and gifts. But I find that I have a little bit of joy when I give them.
Sometimes I forget that “i’m a fan of postcards” is here. I see the link to my Dashboard every day and I think about how I’d like to write something. But the moment quickly passes. I wish I could write like C.S. Lewis or Andy Rooney. Perhaps a blend of the two.
i\'m a fan of postcards 