I Need A Doctor

Word count: 20,696.

I haven't run out of words; I've run out of willingness to think them. Thinking them is re-living them. Whose idea was this, anyway? Moron.

Great nightmare last night. I woke up sweating, shaking, terrified. Had to tell myself out loud that I was alone and safe. He is not here anymore. You know the dogs hate it when I wake them like that in the middle of the night. They need their sleep.

I've been so tired lately, I thought I could sleep without a sleeping pill last night. I forgot there is more than one reason for the sleeping pill. The nightmares. I remembered them as "vivid dreams" and thought they might be good for my writing.

They are not "vivid" and they are not good for writing. Spending one's night embroiled in old terror does nothing at all for one's literary prowess. What it does give you is a blasting headache and nausea for the following 12-24 hours.

So why don't I just stop? Well, if "stopping" is not working on the book today, then I stopped. But I can't stop altogether, because then he wins--or the nightmares win. I'm too proud for that. But I am also too wigged out to peer through the Looking Glass for a few hours. Last night, I was scared of him--now I am scared of nightmares where I am scared of him. Sounds stupid spelled out like that. But you weren't there last night.

End of post.

I really wish you would listen when I tell you that you've reached the end of a post.

If you're ever too scared to write or sleep, I highly recommend spending several hours watching back-to-back episodes of House. Hugh Laurie is always entertaining and though the writing is over the top, there is much to learn from it.