I have written 4,787 words and hate most of them. In fact, I feel like it’s almost like pulling teeth. Strangely I have no affection for my story at all and am actively disliking the characters and the place they are set in. Strangely I just had a wander around the Waterstones of the Costa I’m currently writing in, and I am totally unenthused by any of the books for sale. (Other than an Australian Woman’s Weekly cookbook on Pies and Pastries)Which is very rare.
I am also very irritated by the people who have moved loads of chairs to sit in the table behind me and are now dribbling along in the most irritating fashion after bashing my chair around, stepping on my stuff and generally being irritating. Feh. And now they’re going on about not liking New York much – too many people and too many shops. ‘Bloomingdales is twice the size of Dingles’ well durrrrrr.
I realise that I’ve got that little bit too much going on in my life at the moment to be totally creative but actually I am totally drained and do not feel like carrying on at all. I may give it a few more days but that’s it really. I’m not sure I want to carry on, my head aches and I’m more enthusiastic about painting Kirsten’s van and putting up all my pictures in my new flat. I have so many lovely pictures that I can’t wait to see again. And Kev wants me to take the Pimp-o-BeanBag back too so at least I shall have a sofa and a beanbag to sit on. EBay had better have some cheap sofas 🙂
Running out of battery now.