I have a confession to make. I was seriously considering not writing today. It is late, I have to get up early and have a long day tomorrow, it’s leap year so technically I should get this day off since it only exists every few years. Then I decided that skipping one day is only going to lead down the rabbit hold of justifying not writing on other days. So here I am. I’m not sure what to write, I desperately want to be in my bed right now, and yet, I am typing out this posting…wondering where it will lead. I was reading Natalie’s Goldberg’s book, Writing Down the Bones, today and reread the chapter about practice. Writing is practice. This blog is practice. It gets done everyday, whether I want it to or not, whether it is amazing writing or not. The practice of sitting down at my computer to type out what will eventually become a blog posting must be done everyday. God I hate it when I give myself boundaries and force myself to stick with them.
Here is what I could and should write about tonight (were I not so tired):
That a dear friend gave me a beautiful purple umbrella that matches my new rain boots after I got drenched coming to her apartment with my broken umbrella this morning.
The HUGE black woman who basically sat on top of me on the subway tonight. I actually had to ask her to scoot over so I could get up. She was also very busy talking to herself in between snapping her gum and sighing.
My friend’s mother, whom I have never met, buying me a gift for my friend to give me when she gets back to New York later this week.
The devastating news an old friend shared with me last night that has had my brain and heart reeling for the last 24 hours.