handwritten

Sometimes I am a complete moron. I had grand plans for our trip to Lake Powell. Visions of a seven-hour car ride - each way - to write and record the trip and the memories. To work on this screenplay I've got cooked up in my head but only have about two pages worth down on paper. I even envisioned taking all of our photos and movies from the trip and whipping up an iMovie to share with everyone on the last night. Like I said, grand plans. Especially if you consider that we have 22 people on the boat, 2 little kids to watch, waterskiing, tubing and wakeboarding to squeeze in, cards to play till the wee hours and maybe - if there's time - a few hours to sleep. What can I say? I'm an optimist!

So maybe it was Freudian what happened. We were somewhere around Beaver (yes, that's a real place in Utah...Beaver.) when the battery light on my MacBook went red. Mayday. That meant I had a good 10 minutes to pull out the inverter which plugs into the cigarette lighter (now known as a "power point"- much more politically correct, don't you think?), dig through my backpack to pull out the...SHIT! Power cord. I have a power cord on my desk at the office. And one on my desk at home. Multiple power cords. You know, so I don't have to lug that .25 pounds of cord back and forth every day. And both of them were safely ensconced in their usual hang-outs waiting to breathe life back into my laptop. Three-hundred miles and seven days away from my quickly fading battery. So much for grand plans.

So I resorted to hand-writing my thoughts. Capturing a week full of memories and experiences with pen and paper. Kicking it old school. My hands are unused to this exercise. Typing has ruined them for script. They cramp easily. Damn carpal tunnel. My handwriting is terrible. I hope I'll be able to decipher these loopy scratchings. And I keep skipping letters in some kind of unintentional shorthand. But even though it is a pain (literally), I hope and think that someday I'll appreciate having this "old-fashioned" personal journal documenting our trip. It's kind of raw and natural and pure which is exactly what I love about Lake Powell.

Besides, I'm going to need to paint pictures of this trip through those lovely, descriptive, hand-written words. You see, in yet another tribute to my moron-ness, I seem to have lost my camera with all 300+ photos on it. Excellent.