Exhausted, dazed with a fever and a cold, the apartment in dire need of cleaning and a mountain of dishes to do. The weather is lovely and I should probably take a shower, too. Or make some food. But all those trivialities can wait. I've got a novel to finish writing, and I'll be damned if I'll let such excuses come between me and the 6850 words I've got left to write before midnight.
Oh well, enough with the procrastinating. I'd better get to it. To paraphrase Robert Frost:
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And words to write before I sleep,
And words to write before I sleep.
Love and writing,