because Writers are Readers

The note that was inside the Greenwich planner that was a gift from a friend ... the paper was torn from my office-issued steno pad, heh

I don't doodle. I wouldn't know where to begin. I remember in one of those meetings in the office I actually tried (because yes I wasn't listening) and all I came up with was the question "how does one doodle?" ... in cursive. Well, that's what I do. I write. Anyhoo, I found an old note tucked in an old planner inside an old bag. Well, oldish. I wrote it at work I think late last year when I was supposed to be doing something else. Heh. I can't remember what prompted me to write it but thought I'd share.

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I am both a public and a private reader. 
I am the one sitting at the coffee shop hours after my drink is done because I couldn't put the book down. 
I am the idiot walking in a busy street, bumping into people because my nose is stuck in a book. 
I am the loner hanging out at the park under a shade. 
Or on the beach sprawled on a towel under the scorching hot sun. 
I am the inconsiderate one staying too long at a cafeteria table even if there are others trying to grab a seat. 
I am the one frowning over noisy kids because they distract me from the world in the story I'm exploring. 
I am the one falling asleep on an arm chair by the bookshelf. 
I am the one who spends hours at the bookstore every chance I get. 
I am the employee spending my break time reading over eating. 
I am the one who sleeps late and wakes up early to finish a page turner.
I have mastered the art of folding a newspaper. I got it from my dad.

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Yes, my penmanship sucks.

And it ends there. It looked like I just stopped writing. Just like I'm about to do now.