Ugh, I haven’t even been doing this for a week and I’m already flagging.
Of course, middle of the week’s exciting for no one, is it? We all sit about watching weird television shows (Green Wing and Reign, which have absolutely nothing in common apart from the fact that they are both wholly bananaballs bonkers) and eating grilled cheese sandwiches (tip: Muenster, sharp white cheddar, and mozzarella pizza blend make what may be the most bland grilled cheese sandwich on the face of the earth, do not recommend, it only came about because I am trying to do a fridge clear-out) whilst simultaneously losing at Cookie Jam and wondering when the actual urge to write another book will come back.
We do, right? We all do that?
You know what, I had a whole blog post here, and all it ended up being was me whinging about writer’s block and my stupid brain and Impostor Syndrome, and I can’t. I just can’t do it. Yeah, it would be cathartic as hell and I am pretty sure I am hardcore repressing a lot of stuff right now, but I just cannot. I’m going to take two Advil and go to bed and see where I am in the morning.
The sock still needs a toe.
And you know what, I really should have listened to myself when I was assembling that sandwich and saying aloud, “Wow, this sandwich is really white, this can’t end well.”
Yeah, I have heartburn now.
Ugh. It’s bedtime. It is so, so bedtime.