This week, or at least the way I feel. While Birdie went into the house this morning to get the handful of tampons I forgot to get, I had a little cry. They started with no effort and I had a hard time stopping before Birdie got back out. I feel horrible, and I've felt horrible all summer from one thing after another. Last night it was icepick-through-the-gut menstrual cramps. Birdie is unhappy about something but won't say what. The house isn't near to completion. Money is becoming an issue. Our house is in terrible shape.
And the novel is taking forever to get done. I only wrote about 250 words yesterday, but spent a LOT of time e-mailing back and forth with Kate about life and writing, and with Susan. No work on Earned Run.
The whiny story of slogging through writing my first novel.
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