Five o'clock rolls around, and I'm pretty sure that, given today's output of writing (on my day off, no less, a day expressly set aside for writing) that I'm gonna have to kill myself, or at least stop writing. I spent many hundreds of words describing scenes that, I realize after writing them, are strictly and logically impossible, given the set conditions of my world, not to mention the usual reams of crap that normally come out, so almost the entire day's work is a wash.
In order to feel like I've accomplished anything at all, I set to cleaning the kitchen (with it's attendant ant issue) with a will - scraping stuff, and spraying things, and just generally tearing the place apart.
By the time Katie gets home from work, I seem to to have cleaned my way out of a pretty deep funk, and the ants that were living in the dishwasher have been sent to their maker.
No comments:
Post a Comment