Last night, while laying in my bed, three kahluas deep, I wrote in my head. And I'm pretty sure it was good. I thought to myself, "Seriously Meghan, take five minutes and write this down." In the end, the comfort of my bed won. I lay there for awhile longer, running over and over in my head the words I had put together. Molding them along the way. Feeling better and better about what I was saying. "Really," I thought, "I should really be writing this down." I then told myself that after running these words through my head so many times, I was sure to remember in the morning. Never mind that I changed it every time I heard myself reciting each sentence.

I sat down at my desk this morning. Pulled out the notebook I keep in my drawer for inspired moments just like this. I opened to the next blank page, grabbed the nearest writing utensil and got to work writing.

Or at least that is what I thought was going to happen. I could not remember a thing past the first line. The first line from my first mental rough draft. Every part of my creatively sharp revisions had slipped through the cracks in my mind. Every few hours I stopped what I was doing, sat down and tried to remember. Retracing my train of thought. I ended up writing something vaguely reminiscent of the words I pieced together while laying on the edge of sleep.

Five minutes would have been all the time it took to copy my words onto paper. Rookie mistake.