I MAY NOT BE A REAL WRITER, BUT...

While away from home, I bring along my trusty but slightly older laptop computer.  I need to write my blog entries for the weekend because I did not plan ahead and get them done before leaving on an adventure.  It's also good to stay connected to the world when important things are happening, like a tropical cyclone (with winds the like that haven't been recorded before) makes landfall, and when Bruce Jenner raids Kate Middleton's closet.  Truly earth-shattering stuff.

I have some trouble connecting to the hotel Internet, though.  This has happened to me before with this computer (and also with my more updated work computer, which I did not bring along this time), but I really, really, really have to post the blog.  The blog has become my daily writing regimen, and it also serves as my cheapo-psychiatrist.  Remember I wrote that last sentence when the people in white coats and a strait jacket come to haul me away.

I write the blog on Friday night very quickly because my sister, with whom I am traveling, and I are both exhausted, but we want to get in some heated Cribbage time (I beat her sorely twice, by the way, which rarely --- may have never -- happens) before we konk out.  Saturday, while my sister is off at a singing gig at a wedding, I start working on the next few blog entries, not so much as a writing regimen activity, but more as a schoolwork avoidance strategy.

When it all boils down, I'm a teacher before I'm a writer, mostly because my paying job sucks the life out of my otherwise free time for creativity.  This weekend, though, I can dream and pretend it's the other way around.  After all, I may not be a real writer ... but I DID stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.