About a month before my friend Pammy died, she said something that may have permanently changed me.

We had gone shopping for a dress for me to wear that night to a nightclub with the man I was seeing at the time. Pammy was in a wheelchair, wearing her Queen Mum wig, the Easy Rider look in her eyes. I tried on a lavender minidress, which is not my usual style. I tend to wear big, baggy clothes. People used to tell me I dressed like John Goodman. Anyway, the dress fit perfectly, and I came out to model it for her. I stood there feeling very shy and self-conscious and pleased. Then I said, ‘Do you think it makes my hips look too big?’ and she said to me slowly, ‘Annie? I really don’t think you have that kind of time.’

–Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

 

 

You don’t have the kind of time not
to be writing the kind
for another episode of Without a Trace
or Brexit or another podcast about money that
kind of time you don’t have you
ignore another day goes by without art making you
don’t have time not to make it you don’t
have that kind the kind that runs
out one day after the kind you don’t that kind of
time you do have time you do Have Time
you do do you know it you know it you
know it time is on your side but not time
you don’t have (Write it!) and you don’t
have time for Twitter