Knock Knock
I saw them coming from my kitchen window. I don't know whether they wanted to sell me a new roof, cut my grass or were kids from the local high school raising money, but whenever anyone I don't know comes to my door I always feel funny. I ran from the kitchen window and hid from the windows. My heart was racing as if they could see me, as if they knew I was in here cowering, as if they could open my locked door and accuse me of ignoring a simple knock. The screen door creaked open and the knocking started. I held my breath and tried to tell myself I was still a nice neighbor, that I was still a good citizen. The door creaked back close and I waited a whole longer. The microwave rang out like a scream in the dead of night, but whoever was knocking had already left. So, know I sit here with my mac&cheese a little embarrassed by myself.
Commas
Too many commas, annoying.
Too many commas is the same as driving in stop and go traffic, but there isn't any traffic. Just a one lane road with one car in front of you with a driver who insists on going fast only to slow back down.
Too few commas, annoying.
Too few commas is the same as continuing to run a marathon when you've already crossed the finish line.
Too many thoughts
I know what I want to write about, I know what I want to say, but before I can write it down, before I can get it out, here comes another idea that I MUST say. Should I write the first one, or the second one or the third? I've got to write them down before they leave me altogether, but where to start? From the beginning, I guess. I know what I want to say.