Yes, I know, I have not posted in two days. Writing everyday is hard. Writing and sharing it everyday is really hard. Even, as my mother will be quick to point out, the posts I share are often littered with grammatical mistakes and typos not caught during the final (and often singular) proofread post evening glass of wine. Sometimes I just don’t know what to write. Or I do know what to write and when I sit down to write it suddenly my ideas become incoherent blather that no one in the right, or wrong, mind would want to be subjected to. I am currently reading David Rakoff’s, Half Empty. He is brilliant and I don’t know why it took me so long to finally pick up one of his books after years of laughing until it hurt while listening to him on NPR. In one of his essays, “Isn’t It Romantic?” he eloquently, and hysterically, shares the tortures of writing. “Sit down and write for God’s sake. One fucking sentence, it won’t kill you. It almost kills you. Funny thing about words. Regarded individually or encountered in newspapers or books (written by other people), they are as lovely and blameless as talcum-sweet babies. String them together into a sentence of your own, however, and these cooing infants become a savage gang straight out of Lord of the Flies.” If you are itching for something to read while I am struggling to get back to daily posting pickup one of his books…he’s a billion times more intelligent than I am and far funnier.