I'm sitting here staring at the same paragraph I've been staring at for three days.
The fic is due June 1st.
This is what comes of being a linear writer who doesn't outline. I get stuck and I can't go forward because without knowing what's next, I don't know what's after "next."
My state of mind is not aided by the fact that I've been basically fasting since yesterday because I'm sick of being fat. I'm drinking this juice...stuff to help, but I'm kind of limp and headache-y. On the plus side, I lost four pounds yesterday, and I only have to do this for one more day. Go, me? And no one bust my chops over it either. I exercise, I eat sensibly, and the weight doesn't come off. This is what happens when you turn forty. Your metabolism turns to mush.
*cracks knuckles and kicks Antubis in his fuzzy pants* Let's go, fangface...