My inner editor jabbed me in the ribs. "Way to go. That judge is ready to throw the book at you for what you did."
"He doesn't need to," I growled. "I feel so bad I'd throw a book at myself right now."
My crime? I had been thinking as I drove the car to pick up my daughter from her job. Suddenly, a great idea came to me. It was perfect. Did I have paper handy? Yes. That's why my purse is so heavy. Did I have pencils or pens? Many. I carry that stuff with me always. But I didn't take the time to quickly jot down a quick phrase that would remind me of what I had been thinking about as I drove. The result? A lost idea.
I could KICK MYSELF. I hate it when I do that. I know better. It's happened before. I dragged my attention back to the black figure perched behind the bench.
The judge shook his head sorrowfully. "When will you ever learn? I sentence you to severe mental anguish as you attempt to recall that lost thought. Next time, write it down."
Know what? Next time I will.