sloth and froth

It's four in the afternoon, and I am still in my pajamas. My hair is a mess. I haven't eaten breakfast. Or lunch. I just got up off the couch to let my dog (Carson) back inside. I feel a little lightheaded.

So far today I've indulged in guilty pleasures, catching up on missed episodes of America's Next Top Model and 90210. I'm gearing up to watch Oprah. Who can resist a good incest tell-all? I live in Kentucky, after all.

Ew.

I've spent the whole day writing, feverishly. I am emotionally drained, emptier than my coffee pot, which contained ten cups eight hours ago.

My novel is coming along, but the story takes me into dark places. I feel like the victim in a horror movie, stupidly running up the stairs as the man with the machete chases her. Still, I don't feel sad, I don't feel scared. I feel a sense of craving for it all, an urgency to go to there. (30 Rock reference. Anyone?!)

If writing is theraputic, it makes sense that I'm on the couch. I've just completed the equivalent of five free sessions.

Comments

Jm Diaz said…
Awesome! Writing progress... Yay :)
However, the vanishing coffee pot is a matter of concern, or envy.. I'll decide later. I'm leaning toward jealousy though...

I'm not even gonna touch the guilty pleasures... ha!
Travener said…
LOL, Amber. I've had days where I didn't get off the couch at all, nor did I get any writing done. So you are way ahead of the curve. It's good that your novel is taking you into dark places -- it means you're creating another world outside your own.

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