Twiny

My head was made out of string today, twiny and unkempt. Nothing connected to anything else. Frayed, fraught, frustrated.

I did some work with a cat percolating in my lap. I had to stop when I had too many misfires in a row and could not remember the color palette for the project I was working on long enough to toggle to another document and back. This is the kind of thing at which I normally excel. This is exactly the sort of idiot thing for which I am paid.

I am aware at this moment that I have lost my momentum on my novel. I haven't written a single new word in at least a week. This is something I have to do better with: the time-management and staying motivated and making progress sometimes for the sake of making progress. These are the lessons I learned during NaNo, already needing a refresh. I feel like I did that whole thing about two years ago, even though December is only 12 days old.

But if I stop writing, it's hard to see how I'm going to be a writer. Seems like the one necessitates the other.

Right now, I have taken Julia's advice and made myself something large and hot and filled with whiskey. I bought the whiskey at the Puerto-Rican store, and they slipped it into a tiny paper bag so that I might enjoy it on my way home without falling prey to open-container laws. I was, however, able to restrain myself until I had locked the door behind me. It's not a single malt, though. This here is Tennessee sour mash. I don't really know what the differences are. I am not a whiskey drinker.

The whiskey is plugging the gaps in a cup filled with a lemon/ginger tea and an obscene amount of honey. The drink burns me three times: once because it is too hot; again because of the whiskey; and last because of the ginger.

The honey is intended to nullify the taste of the whiskey, and it does this job half-heartedly, shoving itself out of the way so that even the cheap tea with its artificial lemon taste can rush in and hit the taste buds first. The honey comes in only after each sip is through, cleaning house and putting the stools up on the bar for the night.

When it finally flicks off the lights, I am left with only the ginger.