sort of wrote sentences while on the train tonight:

my grandfather hears whispering and misunderstands shouting.

two hikers stay away from the waterfall and wait - a third almost slips into the pool.

at the dinner table i can notice my developing thoughts.

my young uncle on my dad's side rides up to the lake house in the car with my grandmother on my mom's side. when they stop at the diner, they both worry about the cat they have in the car.

when i touch my earlobe a spider falls onto my green jersey.
i squish her with my pointer finger.

i think i should write down my thoughts about our four wheel vehicles.

when i attempt to write about a new layer of thoughts,
i only remember the thoughts about the four wheel vehicles,

which still cannot be explained well.

that act of writing thoughts, like the act of watching a video of a monkey pulling a dog's tale,
begets layers of non-sequiturs.

i think gay marriage is 'okay'.

i want to add 'beer bottle opening' to the story i am currently revising.
while i am working on one story, i get ideas for another story.

i am working on neither story, and feel like my ideas are for a different type of story altogether or no story altogether, and i am perpetually working on stories that i never finish.