Sunday Morning Coming Down

I have spent a good amount of time this week despairing rejoicing revising.

I’m seeing some good connections, finding things I need to expand, refocus, or move around. I’m beginning to think I might have a book after all, that I might finish this summer, no problemo, what was I so worried about?

And then, fifteen minutes ago, it all came to a jangling halt.

Fuck.

The problem chapter in the problem section is blitheringly incoherent. I don’t know enough to write it.

So it’s back to the primary sources (which I think I have). It’s crying into my metaphorical beer. It’s back to work, motherfucker. No one said this shit would be easy.

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4 responses to “Sunday Morning Coming Down

  1. Today’s choices: (1) Work on the fucker, or (2) Read my stepdad’s Facebook feed.

    The Fucker is WAAAAAAY easier on my stress level.

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