I still have only a vague idea of where it's all going, but it's getting sharper by the day (the story, not the wit or any noticeable signs of talent.)
And as such, I am going slightly mental. I am barely sleeping. I am texting friends to apologise for not hanging out with them any more. I am going to work in a vice-like fug of tiredness and confusion. My diet consists of Pringles and cigarettes. I am desperate for sleep. I am even ignoring women who are contacting me on a dating website I recently joined because - oh how this makes me laugh - it is becoming apparent that in trying to resolve my major issues (such as writing), I am automatically scuppering any number of my other woes (such as
Because I can't do everything at once.
So I'm still:
b) Eating shit
c) Gaining weight
d) Not cycling
e) Not visiting the gym(s)
f) Not sleeping
g) Not having sex - as if that needed pointing out.
and in a weird example of history repeating itself, I am going on another stag in a few days, Hippy Dave's, obliterating a precious 48-hour weekend that would otherwise be spent
Great. Just postponing the time until I start touting my finished manuscript and getting several billion rejections.