I always promise to write and then never do. Sometimes I think it must reflect my lack of commitment or some such other psychobabble, that you must think I'm a horrible, horrible person for saying I'll write and never doing so. Not because you miss my writing but because I didn't make good on my commitment.
But what you didnt know is that I have been writing. I've been writing papers and emails and scribbling post-it notes for my roommate and making a general mess of black pilot precise pen on my hand, which doubles as a mobile post-it note. This morning, with five notes written on my hand, in no particular order:
Satterly 116 [office of Education]
Danny's check [to be deposited]
36-14-** [my locker combination, which I can never remember]
LC1003.N87 [Dewey's decimal helping out]
Josh's B [call him, he's the big ONE-O today]
I never thought twice about the scribbling there until my Philosophy exam this morning. Suddenly Danny's check and my locker combination seemed to be glaringly obvious and perfectly incriminating – especially as Dr. Tartaglia circled the room in search of cheaters-cheaters. I wanted to shout out in my defense, but instead just put my hand under the table and pressed on through postulates of determinism in science.
