I keep a telepathic record of my thoughts each night. They are witty, they are thoughtful, they use beautiful imagery and entire phrases rise and fall with an easy lilt.
My telepathic journal holds a true account of my heart. I replay the posts in my mind, certain that their beauty and honesty will stay with me until the morning when I can write them down. Unfortunately the next days’ tasks are too loud, they crowd out any hope of a morning memory.
But even my telepathic blog has days of drought. Last night recorded only scraping schmutz off the back of bathroom tiles to prep them for reapplication, hopefully an improvement. Naturally I forgot to take “before” pictures.