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.”

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Whoop, there's reality ...

Back from vacay. Seven glorious days of sandy beaches and 24-hour room service, artistically plated meals delivered by white-gloved waitstaff, and a turn-down-the-bed housekeeping service that lit fragranced candles and deposited dark chocolate squares on my pillow. Heated indoor swimming pools and the Caribbean Sea to refresh and invigorate. Serenity pools, massages on the beach, and a constant parade of cabana boys to bring Mandarin Sours and Dirty Monkeys.
I drank more alcohol from November 25 through December 2 than I have drunk in the last three years. No kidding.
Had more romantic nights with my spouse those seven days than I've had in seven weeks.
Not kidding about that, either. And though I might be oversharing, just let me say that spending one full week in Playa del Paraiso (near Cancun, Mexico) was like being granted a week-long glimpse of Heaven.
There, everything was clean and pure and smelled like limes and ocean breezes.
Now I am home and everything is untidy and dusty and smells like wet dog and burned toast.

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