Addendum to the Flood

Okay, so I wasn't completely right about my trunk being full of old school notes. While the trunk dried out in the carport, I filtered through the stacks of papers and, besides being reminded that I rewrote all my lecture notes, I found a notebook marked "engineering 4." Now I have periodically reshuffled these papers for the past thirty years and have always assumed that this little narrow-ruled notebook contained notes from the one engineering class I took in college (taught by a turdish man who would never looked at me when I came up to ask questions yet joked with any of the students with penises, so I abandoned the career plan to become a bridge designer that I had entertained in my freshman year.) So, because I had no fond memories of the class, I had never opened the notebook, until the other day. It turns out I must have thought so little of turd man and his instructions for drafting bolts that I never rewrote my lecture notes. Instead I used the notebook as a journal. It's mostly filled with silly debates with myself between two boys I simultaneously loved and hated, but it was also written during my I-think-I-can-write-country-songs phase. Not being a cowboy, I didn't write about beer and dogs. No, my subject matter drew from the life experiences of an egghead dorkette. Here's my favorite (note the one-word instruction in the top left corner):

Yes, I wrote love songs to my cat, to be sung "soulfully." And, in case you're wondering, I do not write songs for a living.