I don't think anyone can argue that nothing beats the laundromat for fun and self-fulfillment. Of course, this is Seattle, and the laundromat is in the University District, so it's got wifi. In fact, it's got one of the better connections I've found. Fast and it lets you send email via Mail (the public library doesn't seem to like pop mail apps). The machines are good; for $1.50, you get a huge load washed and 75 cents usually does the drying.

The trick, of course, is to own enough underwear and socks to avoid doing laundry in less than 8 or 9 days. Running out of clothes in less than a week is sad; for a few more dollars at Target or Fred Meyer, you can extend the time between visits, a worthy expense.

I went to see Anne Lamott speak and read from her new book last night. Anne is one of those writers, Harlan Ellison being another, who I almost enjoy more as a commentator than as a writer. "Enjoyable." I get such a kick listening to her speak, just as I as do reading what Harlan says about things and people. I love their published works, of course, but those are not as much fun.

Last night was fun. It's great to see the person in the flesh; there's something desperately human about the need to experience live what, frankly, is better in its published form: books and cd's are better quality than live performance, but they lack the elements of humanness and of presence. When I read Anne's books, I don't get her asides, the way she skips the "boring parts," the way she uses her voice so we understand clearly just what she's trying to say.

yesterday was Alex's 21st birthday; i wrote a piece in BlueOregon about both his birth and my failures as a parent. that got a number of nice replies, which is always gratifying. i just posted a second piece, about my thoughts on what it means that he's in the Guard despite my efforts to live the live of a peacenik.

yesterday was a tough day. i'd not gotten enough sleep the previous two nights, but it was more than that. i felt raw, ready to break down. at one point i told a couple of people at work about him being in the Guard, at basic training, and i spoke of "the possibility", at which point i was ready to sob -- but it was the wrong place; they were the wrong people.

When I sit down to write, I face two problems. One problem really, just that it's two-sided. And both sides kick my ass.

On the one hand, I look at my websites and think "No one reads these anyway". Which isn't exactly true, but with readers I can count on a single hand, it's as good as true.

On the other hand, I find myself so often thinking "Whatever I write will be crap". Which also isn't exactly true. I am a good writer, but I write so infrequently, especially and at Tin Cup Chalice, that I have no developed the writing skills I know I possess. So I have some idea, I try to write it out, and golly gee, it comes out crappy.

And of course, anyone with either common sense or writing background (the two, I believe, are mutually exclusive) will see that I am killing myself with excuses. Instead of writing, I make excuses. I know I make excuses; I'm not stupid. But here is the problem I have with excuses.

The problem I was having with "intrinsic identity" is that if I, as a person, an individual, have no such thing — if none of us do — then how can we insist on treating each other with decency? What's the purpose of love or respect? What's the purpose of life itself if we — if I — have no meaning?

But Buddhists do believe in respect, love and the sanctity of life. So I knew I was not clear in my thinking; I was missing something important.

Of course when I got it, it was very simple — and profound.

I have a lot to learn about both Quakerism and Zen. I find strong elements of truth in both, however, so at this point in my life, I am shaping my life's practices on their teachings. Fortunately, for the most part, they do not conflict with each other.

In one area, however, they appear to run into each other in a very significant way. Quoting from one my primary Zen sources, Stephen Batchelor's "Buddhism Without Beliefs" --

A central Buddhist idea ... is that no such intrinsic self can be found through analysis or realized in meditation. Such a deep-seated sense of personal identity is a fiction, a tragic habit that lies at the root of craving and anguish.

"Be careful what you wish for." Not one of my favorite clichés. If it was a good one, I could wish myself into a happy, sorry state with no regrets. And I didn't really wish for anything, but I guess I did set myself up for this kind of trouble.

Last night I slept until 4:30 am, and that was it. So around 5, I got up, made tea and did my "morning pages". Since that involves three hand-written pages, I'll summarize. I have this tendency to let the little things get me down. Monday night, for example, a car that cut around the corner when I was one step for the edge; a truly loathsome, selfish thing to do and the kind of thing to enrage me and really drag me down. I managed to avoid that reaction. Instead, I waved cheerily at the car, "Hi, I was there, hello" not because I thought the driver would but it made me feel better. So this morning, in my morning pages, I wrote about how I need to be careful for just that reason: not to let the little things drag me down.