So Matthew’s at the Atlanta Film Festival, Hobkin’s napping under his hutch, I’ve got a huge pot of coffee brewed, and I’ve got no excuse not to be writing. But am I writing? Of course not.
In order to avoid putting words on the page, I’ve dumped a load of laundry in the washer, neatened the bedroom, and fiddled with my writing logs. To top things off, my arms are hurting. My TOS is making itself known again.
I’m just totally pissed with myself now.