Just a small block. Nothing to worry about. Probably.

Hello, would you like to hear what's going on in my head?



I'm determined to complete the latest draft of my novel but now, whoops, I've decided that it no longer makes sense. Oops, whoops, oh well. Who told me I could write a thing? Not going to give up, though, so I noodle around in chapters and make little stabby motions at the keyboard while my stomach hurts. And then I flee in terror, tumbling down a Pinterest-hole for hours. This isn't the most efficient way to make progress, turns out.

Other productivity methods that have failed me: drinking too much coffee, eating whatever's around, hyperventilating, Googling successful friends, angry showering (careful with that loofah, kids!), irritating the cat, yelling at stuff, cleaning everything.

I may be a-quiver with self-loathing, but on the plus side, our apartment is extraordinarily clean. I dusted the ceiling. Do you need someone to dust your ceilings? Just say the word.

I'm sure this will pass. Right? Right. As the goats would say, "Bwaaa. Aaaagh. Muaoaoaaaa. Ehhhhhhhhhhhch."