I'm supposed to be writing. Right this very moment, me and the words, we should be in the groove.
We are not.
My head will not shut up today, and I'm finding focus a little hard to come by. There are changes afoot at the dayjob, and unrest there and among friends and family, and have I mentioned I haven't finished this novel yet? Gah, I say. Life is filling my head with the wrong things for writing.
I tried self-medicating with bourbon, but that just made me sleepy and supremely unconcerned. Not so helpful.