The Perfect Excuse to Write

The perfect excuse to write is that it’s the first of December. And that I’m listening to Norah Jones while drinking white wine. And that the last time I wrote was almost two months ago.

I’ve been running around, and running from, and running after things – deadlines, personal goals, people’s expectations, things like that. You know, like normal human beings do. That was good too. Except that once in a while you have to step back, let your head rest on the back of your seat and not think about things. Over a glass of wine. And beautiful music.

Once in a while, perhaps on the month of your birthday, you should have a good conversation. That will last until midnight. Or morning. Over the most delicious food you have tasted all year. In a dim-lit restaurant. And just be.