Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Monday, June 29, 2009

Monday, Monday ...

Well, I feel like the shock of Michael Jackson's death is behind me. I let myself feel down in the dumps for three days, but it's time to move on. I just hope the media doesn't further crucify this extraordinary talent.
Today all three kids are home, and so far two are still in bed. And it's 1 p.m. How do they do this? When I loll about in bed I am subject to strange dreams that usually involve skyscrapers and feeling as though I'm being chased.

Because it's still stupidly hot I might not leave the house today; or, end up seeing a movie. My Sister's Keeper intrigues me, but I don't know if what I need now is a crying spell. The heat already has me feeling depressed.

I've done no writing on my Bologna Book. Will I even get to it this summer?

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