Um, yeah.

I’m reading this fabulous book by Anne Lamott called Operating Instructions:  A Journal of My Son’s First Year.  I’ve read some of her other things, and actually I’m not really all that moved by her novels for some reason.  But this is awesome!  I laughed out loud several times last night and subjected Magnus to at least three excerpts that he didn’t exactly have a burning desire to hear.

Anyway, it makes me think I should be writing more.  Actually, I know I should, but there seems to be this wall between where my head is now and the ability to string several thoughts together into a cohesive whole.  I’m not sure what that is.  Is pregnancy making me dumber?  Seriously, it probably does have something to do with hormones.  I just hope it isn’t permanent.

Also, Sam is going through a hellish experience with cancer.  That has very little to do with my not writing, except that I write drivel and then look at her blog (full of insightful, real thoughts), and I have to wonder what the hell I’m writing about.  Sure, forming a new life is very important and cool, but I’m not saying anything meaningful.  And Sam is fighting for her life and sharing it so beautifully with her readers.  Hard to explain, I guess.  I just feel like I should be doing the same thing, and yet, I can’t seem to do it.

So I’ve written this entire thing about not writing, but really, it feels good.  It’s something.  It’s not deep or important, but it really is how I’m feeling right now.