Today was all bright and wonderful in the beginning, but I somehow ended it in a pit of panic and despair. Luckily I'm getting just slightly better at this whole eccentric, secretly-emotionally-scarred writer thing and I recognize the illogical unreality of the black nights when I'm entering them just a little faster than I used to.
So I'm going to go to bed early, get up early, and seize the day like I did this morning, when I wrote for two hours before work and then trained with Alyssa. And I'm going to remember that the last two blocked hours don't define me, don't mean that the book is irrevocably fucked, and don't mean that I can't finish on the timeline I want (and, even if I don't finish, it's not the end of my career/life). Goodnight!
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