i saw and heard anne lamott read from her newest book tonight, Some Assembly Required, a memoir of her grandson's first year. she remains the only writer who has made me laugh out loud when i read her words.
as wonderful and inspiring as it is to hear her, which i have done so a few times now - it's great to be in the same area as her - i also leave feeling pretty chickenshit about my lack of writing practice. which sucks - i have only myself to blame for that.
life just seems to get in the way. not even good stuff like traveling, or like a really good date, or hell, i don't know, wrestling an alligator. it's getting home after work and being tired even though you sat in a chair all day. or paying the bills and fretting over debt. or freakin' facebook sucking you in and then suddenly it's super late and you need to get up way too soon to go sit in a chair again all day. it's numbing and hard to pay attention to what is going on around you - the ordinary and extraordinary that provide the material to write.