I Really Need To Start Keeping A Pen And Some Paper In My Bathroom.

I may well have said that before, and/or that may just sound bizarre, but there is a reason for this.

I find that the bathroom, for some reason, is somewhere in which I come up with a lot of my ideas. Now, if I'm somewhere other than home this isn't usually a problem because I normally have a pen and some old receipts in my pockets with which I can make notes or jot down a couple of lines. I sometimes even use my phone and save said info as a draft text message. The time it takes to do this is never a problem as pretty much everyone I know now knows that even at the best of times, my IBS leads me to be on the toilet for longer than the average person, so it is thought nothing of.

When I'm at home tho, I like to take everything out of my pockets to feel more comfortable, you know? You're at home Axl. Relaaaaaaaaax.

This does however lead to things like what happened about 3 hours ago when I was on the toilet (don't worry, I won't go into details) and got a massive flash of inspiration. Not just a great idea, but a great idea with several lines and incredibly clever, packed, non-formal schemed rhyming. About 7 or 8 lines of complex poetry suddenly flashed into my head. I immediately reached for my pockets to find no pen or phone. Shit!

I had receipts in my back pocket tho. If I could find something to write with, I would be fine. But what is there in a bathroom to write with? Well, luckily I live with two women, which means that in my field of vision there was a bag of make-up/lotions/female stuff. If I could find an eyeliner pencil in there, my idea would be saved.

No.

No eyeliner pencil.

I looked for ages. I started turning out the contents onto the floor by my feet. There was no eyeliner pencil to be found. Nothing I could write with at all. There was however, totally randomly, a box of matches. I have no idea what they were doing in there and I almost ignored them, but then I remembered one making mark on walls with matches when I was trying to light them on various surfaces. I tried to write with a match on a receipt.

They were safety matches tho. No marks left. Balls. I did notice tho that it had left an almost invisible indentation on the receipt just by having been pressed into the paper.

I started to write. By this point tho, I had forgotten almost everything that had come to me. It was gone. Gone. Not coming back anytime soon either. So I ended up only getting down a basic version of some of the lines and with it, a general idea of the poem, rather than the sure thing I had originally thought up.

All of which means that this will probably end up not being usable. Which means that I need to start keeping a pen and some paper in my bathroom. See? Not so weird after all, is it?