Written last night at dinner...
Here I sit at a sports bar. Technically, it is a haven of chicken wings and beer, neither of which I am particularly fond. With the spastic television screens flashing at every angle, each showcasing a different sporting event, and the thumping, over-loud dance music echoing off the walls that is matched in intensity only by the raucous, half-drunk patrons, one must wonder why anyone could NOT understand why Americans have no attention spans. I sit here sipping a glass of water with my quiet-natured husband and scrawl my thoughts in my ever-present book so that I can assure myself that I am indeed still capable of HAVING thoughts. This is one of many reasons why I don’t go to bars. Even though I don’t drink, I always end up with a hangover. It doesn’t take booze or beer for me; merely the ambiance does the trick. All I have to say is that this chicken better be good.