Well, I came back from my residency last Thursday. Lots of motivation seething through me and stuff like that. I was rolling this weekend - chopped down my synopsis to one page single spaced in five hours (cringe and double cringe). Read my critique group member's novel pages, getting ready to critique it. Also wrote three pages. Now it's Monday, and work has drained every ounce of will out of me. Is it the weekend yet? I don't have the luxury of only working on my project and everything that goes along with it on the weekends only. I think I'm more disappointed in myself. Damn it I should be able to handle more than this! All the things I want to get done, and all the things I need to get done, and my body just doesn't want to do it. I'm a pathetic loser who needs to get her ass in gear and stop thinking what I have to do and do it. Okay, I'm a bit better now. Just need to yell at myself once in a while, point out what a fool I am, things like that. I'll be fine. It will all get done in the end, whether or not my mind and body have to go through prolonged torture (that is to yank the motivation out of me, because the writing I love, it's the energy I need). Did this make any sense? Am I sounding two-faced, double-headed? My mind is split in a million directions and it doesn't know which way to think. Hmm, I like that sentence. Oh, oh, I thought of this today that sounded cool: Metal squeaking like a chirping baby bird. I know it's probably dumb, and I know I'm all over the place. Eh. Maybe I have schizophrenia. That would be interesting... Interesting - one of the most boring words in the English language. It doesn't describe anything. If anything, it's now interpretted as being negative - as in someone thinks your story idea is interesting, they really mean, I don't like it but I'm too much of a coward to be honest. I think I'm done now. Are you done sounding stupid brain? Food - that's what I need. If my husband would get home with the food I might not sound so nutty. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. >:) For those who don't know that's the devil smiley. That's it, I'm possessed. Why can't a demon that makes me into a compulsive work-a-holic/frantic writer possess me? I'm forcing the demon to stop talking through me now. Ta ta!