Writing is becoming more difficult lately. So why is it that I woke up today wanting to write a book--something to explain life and woven tightly with love, loss, redemption, and hope. But yet I sat staring at a blinking blogger cursor unsure of how to begin a simple post. Well, maybe it will come. Maybe I need to use all this time to write the starts and stops down. I wish I was a better chronicler of the moment.
I read in lieu of cleaning of my apartment this morning. This book is a beautiful and awful and compelling work of fiction. After two hours in the Manhattan world of Oskar Schnell, I had to get out of bed. I don't think I would've put it down save for the constant dripping of my broken toilet approaching the critical mass of Chinese water torture.
Well, I'm off to wrangle massive amounts of recycling, shop for milk, and train some therapists. The whole time I'll just be wishing I was listening to The Shins and reading. I'll save that for tomorrow morning.