How you doin’? *wink*
I see you over there with your laptop and triple espresso heart-attack drink and baby the way you twist your face in complete despair over the idea that may or may not work this year… it just GETS to me. Lets sit across from each other, completely ignoring the other except in silent acknowledgement that we may or may not live through this. Then, later, when it’s all over, we can share a bottle of wine and plot the death of that BIOTCH Renee Miller for making us do this crapola AGAIN.
It’s like she hates me or something.
Whatever. I won’t even talk about the project I’m going to work on because, honestly, I have no fucking clue. Nothing feels right. When November 1st comes along, I’ll close my eyes and point and hope to whatever deity is listening that it isn’t shitty.
But who am I kidding? Of COURSE it’s going to be shitty. That’s the thing of NaNo. Shitty writing in 30 days of HELL. (And those of you who say that what you write during NaNo is flawless, I have a cliff I’d like to
push you off of show you). Last year, I didn’t even get past the 5k word mark in the project. It’s the PRESSURE, man. Ride my ass with a word count whip and I promise I’ll collapse before we see any rising action.
Sure, we could assume that this year will be different somehow. But then we’d be OPTIMISTS. *shudders*
To those of you participating of your own free will, I salute you. I will also put you out of your misery should you ask nicely, because I care. For now, buckle those chastity belts, hook up the caffeine IV, and get ready for the longest titty twister of your life.