The Mind Maelstrom

Some days, I forget that I have a blog.

Actually, that's not true. Certainly, there are days where I wish I didn't have a blog. Just like there are days where I wish I didn't want so badly to write and publish a novel. But those are just some days, and usually, they're rare days. Ironically enough, the secret to making myself feel better about those days is to write in my blog and work on my novel, because then these two things are no longer a source of anxiety and personal consternation, but become achievements that I can take pride in.

Speaking of pride (which is a Mortal Sin, or so I'm told), I'm proud of myself for not yet breaking my goal of "Write Every Day." It was particular difficult last night, when the D&D game didn't break until about 12:30 and I didn't even sit down to write until about 1 AM. The fact that I did it even though I was tired, even though I really, really, really didn't want to do it has done a lot for my personal morale. The fact that I didn't reach the thousand work mark, which is sort of my informal daily milestone, doesn't even bother me that much.

I didn't reach the 1k goal tonight, either, although I rationalized it by saying that 800 or so words is pretty close to a thousand, and I had to write a scene for my fiction class, and at least I put in a pretty solid effort, so my stupid fucking neurotic voice can just shut its stupid mouth and go back to the dark corner of my mind. Yeah, I should that part of... myself. Awesome.

I have a pretty back toothache that seems to be getting steadily worse. Going to be paying a visit to the dentist tomorrow, even though I really don't like dentists. I especially didn't like my last one, with his whole "fuck painkillers, you'll barely even feel the drill" mentality when it came to drilling cavities. Uh, no fucking thank you, doc, in my book, there's a pretty big difference between "hardly" and "not." For example, I'd much rather be "not dead" or "not in pain" than "barely dead" or "barely in pain."

Got a good recommendation for a new place, though, so tomorrow, we'll go see what's what. I'm certain that there will be bad news. Like, not just the usual "you have cavities" bad news, but something along the lines of "the entire inside of your upper jaw is rotting from the inside out and will have to be surgically removed. Don't worry, you'll barely even notice it's gone."

Damn it, there's that word again.

Is it a bad sign that I really wished I had a beer to enjoy while I was working on my novel tonight? At the time, I tried to rationalize that a drink would have giving me something to occupy my mind during the pauses while I'd think about what the next line should be. Now, though, I'm not so sure the desire is quite that innocent.

I suppose it's a good sign that I didn't just go straight for the bottle of Crown Royal, yeah? That'd be the sign of a truly hardened, horribly cliched alcoholic writer.

Damn it, now I'm thinking about that bottle of Crown.