My neck hurts. My shoulders hurt. My brain hurts. Supposedly going to David S-'s birthday party last night should have relieved that, but it didn't...partly because of the traffic driving into the city, and then the traffic on the way home. I was wiped. I feel blah this morning, but...the chapters still need writing.
And I'm eyeing my personal internal blacksnake whip of motivation with utter loathing. I know how the book comes out...why do I have to write the rest of it? (whine, whine, whine)
Because, of course, some of you want to read it, and my publisher will dump me like ballast off a hot-air balloon if I don't turn it in on time.