I just finished reading Scott Lynch's Red Seas Under Red Skies (review up at Skunk Cat), which of course means I spent the evening reading instead of writing. I can't even stay up very late writing since I have to work tomorrow.
On the other hand, I did get some writing done today and the words flowed pretty easily. I wrote longhand, which is actually good for me: when I type it up, it'll be very easy to just keep typing when I run out of handwritten words. I just need to find time to type.
Of course, nothing I write will ever be as good as the book I just read. I typically don't compare myself to other writers--but damn, do my little stories seem like unimportant fluff right now.