When commenting on my writing a few days ago, drizel (etain) typed the sound of an old electric typewriter; I did her one better, saying that I had a manual typewriter, a Smith Corona Galaxy Twelve, which was given to me in 1977 for my high school graduation. But I do miss that paeting! sound, because it meant you had finished another line of whatever you were typing, even if you weren't watching the progress, because, like me, you might be looking at the keyboard as you type. I also write in journals, because of so much time commuting and/or waiting on public transportation. Here's one of the oldest journals in the 2nd photo. And, just for the hell of it, the composition I wrote in second grade. I seemed to want to be a baker when I wrote this, and I must have been hopped up on penicillin at the time. I was sick a lot when I was young, and always had to carry the pills to school. I can only imagine with our Zero Tolerance Policy, I'd likely be doing hard time as a repeat offender. Hmnnn, maybe then I'd be a baker, working Cell Block D in Stateville. Behind (iso)bars, Wayne
