Well, ladies and gents, I am slacking as hard as a horny toad on hashish.
We’ve reached that infuriating stage in the writing process I like to call, “The Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul” (Thank you, Douglas Adams). Every book, every time, I reach the third quarter of the writing and all manner of mental capacity shits the bed.
It Shits the bed!
So now I’m sitting here knee deep in a Youtube hole as I wait for 3:50PM so I can go see LOGAN in the theater and cry like a pregnant woman in the third trimester when she sees a tiger cub yawning.
“Seeing LOGAN isn’t writing, Michaela,” you say.
Oh, don’t I know, but let’s be honest – seeing LOGAN isn’t the least appropriate use of my procrastination time.
Things Michaela has done OTHER THAN WRITE this week –
1) Set up a sewing table in the dining room, despite not sewing in months.
2) Cleaned out the refrigerator.
3) Sat on my ass and contemplated the meaning of things.
5) Apply Castor Oil to my scalp and eyebrows, and a charcoal blackhead strip to my nose.
6) Listened to the sound of frigid wind blowing outside, praise the gods that winter isn’t over and perhaps we’re a bit further from global catastrophe in the form of Climate Change while at the same time dreading the sheer notion of leaving the house and freezing my tits off!
7) Sat on my toilet while staring at my phone for a total period of two separate half hour sessions.
It’s bad, ladies and gents. It’s not good.
So as we grab boots and coats to head to the theater, I hereby vow to write 2k words before bed this evening, minimum.
Don’t believe me?! You sound like a levelheaded individual. Congratulations.
No matter! I vow to WRITE MOAR! And post a snippet for all to see. Wish me luck. And the strength to survive sobbing through LOGAN for the next two hours. WHEEEEE!!!