What's That Smell? Oh, it's Just My Blog Post.

I've been plowing through Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. All 1066 pages of it. I'm down to the last few pages, and all I can say is wow! that woman had a brilliant mind!

You thought you were going to get a book review, didn't you? Not this time. You're welcome. I like to keep my readers pleasantly surprised, at least once in a while. I won't review that book unless someone really wants me to.

Anyone?

(Cricket chirps. Wolf howls in the distance.)

Right.

So here is where I share some random thoughts that have been floating through my head.

Random thoughts (in no particular order):

I have to compose a version of Silent Night involving two violins, a cello, a piano, and possibly a flute. It has to be done soon so we can practice for a Christmas performance. No stress. Nope, no stress whatsoever.

Pure science and pure religion are one and the same.

I never, ever will get over pie. I love pie. I must accept this and quit fighting it.

Why is it that the smells of autumn remind me so much of new beginnings? Sure, I know it's all about the start of a new school year that's so ingrained in me, but just the wafting scent of old leaves makes me want to jump with excitement.

Go to bed already, you idiot! (that wasn't random at all.)

Y'all know I write this blog for myself, don't you? It's the only way I can explain why I write what I do. I've always written my journals as if I was writing to someone -- some fuzzy idea of a future descendant who would be reading about me from a dusty, faded notebook. This isn't exactly as revealing as my journal, of course, but I like knowing you're out there, whether I know you or not.

I'm going to bed before I really stink up this post even worse than I have.