I like this particular set of stairs. They seem quaint to me, in a sentimental cobble-stone sort of way. I've always liked these stairs, and I am particularly fond of them in the rain.
As I walked up the stairs, I was careful to keep my feet on the outer ledges of each step, where no water had pooled, and I thought to myself,
"I didn't know so much water pooled at the...the spot on the stairs where they...they meet...Gah! There must be a word for that spot on a step. The inside of the step? Where the vertical and horizontal meet to create an inside corner...the conjunction of the steps? There's probably a word for it. Buried deep inside some dusty dictionary and buried deeper in some Scrabble champ's brain. A stair-maker would know the word. Good grief, there's probably a better word for "stair-maker" as well. A real, technical and specific word for that profession. Ugh, there's so much to know that I don't know. There's so much I didn't know I don't know!"
I think I knew a lot of things yesterday (at least, I remember thinking I did). In fact, there are days when I'm fairly confident that I know an above-average amount of things. But then there are days like these, when I'm faced with something that I don't know (and before that moment I didn't even know that I didn't know it), and I think that I might as well not know anything at all.
What I need now is a good book, one with obscure vocabulary and lots of imagination, to re-charge my brain and increase my confidence in knowing. Oh, look! I just happen to have Neil Gaiman in my purse! That should fit the bill just perfectly.
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