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[personal profile] desperance
Aaargh. I need to go out, but I have to stay in for a package.

Also it's horrible out there, so I should be glad to be indoors; but it's cold and grey in here too, even if the rain no longer penetrates the roof, and I am restless and inconsolable.

More specifically, I am between chapters. You can have no idea - no idea, I say! - how awful this is. I cleverly finished a chapter in a swift whisker of work this morning, and as it happens I do actually know what the next chapter needs to be about - it's The Old Man and the Sea, basically, and please not to tell me that's been done: not as I will do it, it hasn't - but I need to go walking over the moor to find the first line of it and a sense of progress after. That's where I get my ideas from, stomping past the bullocks and the dog-walkers. Even in the rain. And without that - well, I can't get started. Apparently.

I should do other things; I should make lamb stock with those bones, and chutney with those pears and all that ginger. Which would be fine things to do on a cold and cheerless day - only, y'know. I started work, that makes it a work day. Which makes this a work day wasting, running to waste...

As I said. Aaaargh.

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