I like happiness. Do you like happiness, too?

Listening to my ipod at work is distracting in a necessary way. It almost makes folding over 200 letters and stuffing envelopes poetic. Almost.

On days like today when almost all the leaves have fallen off the trees and the air is mild while the sun blinds city drivers and I sit in front of a computer in a windowless room, suffocating with lack of sleep and inspiration, I wonder if I've already settled. Maybe I needed to understand myself in this realm in order to leave it and move on. But for now it's an uncomfortable challenge, so I'm all in. I know can do this. I just hope I can do it and be happy at the same time.

I could use a good laugh. Give me a tall mug of coffee and a long conversation anytime. I need to stop eating so badly and spending so much time on my hair. I need to sit in the sunshine and eat sliced apples and be ok with being alone for awhile.

I want days and weeks to focus on writing one precious truth that touches everyone who reads it in a place they had forgotten about and leads to good and purposeful action. The other day I was feeling particularly uninspired, and met an older Irish man in the coffee shop who told me that it's better to be a bad writer than to not write at all. He admitted that most of his writing is completely awful. And then he shared with me one of his published novels that was for sale in the shop. Mmm. Bad writing it is.