On a personal note, things are a wee bit anxious with our gas gauges. I had been planning on fueling up my car the day before the prices jacked up a week+ ago. Bad timing that, but no biggie. I figured I could wait until they came back down to reasonable levels and switched to driving fosteronfilm's car, which had about a half tank.
This week, not only haven't the prices gone down, but it's getting hard to find a station which hasn't been drained dry. And the ones which do have gas are also sporting some pretty long queues. I think letting my car idle in line waiting to fill up is a poor use of a scarce resource, so I haven't braved the stations.
I believe there's enough in the hubby's car to make it through this week (and only because I'm working 4x10 hours), but it's going to be close. Been really easing up on the gas pedal, decreasing my speed overall, and trying to coast to a gentle stop rather than have to brake hard. Making a minor change to my driving habits seems to have had a pretty dramatic effect on how much fuel I'm using—assuming each marker on the quasi-digital fuel level display indicates an equivalent amount, which may not be the case.
Just need to make it home today and to the MARTA station and back tomorrow. I'm expecting things to be back to normal come next week. I hope.
Was muchly miffed with myself for not getting any new words on the page over the weekend+Monday even though I had plenty of time and opportunity to write. (I did, however, bake a blackberry pie; whenever I engage in activity of a domestic nature, it's typically indication that I'm deep into writing-procrastination mode.)
Frustrated with muse and brain, I decided to do a lil (nonscientific) experiment. I intentionally let my other hamsters—editing The Fix, various professional correspondences, etc.—run amok until I am once again verily behind on everything, thereby ramping up my stress level and decreasing the amount of time I've got free to commit to writing.
My theory is that in addition to my creativity being hardwired to my stress center, my desire to write will rise in disproportionate measure to the amount of time I've got free and clear to do so.
And lo the results:
• 2.5K+ words on The Stupid Novel yesterday with ideas pelting me every time I stopped to do something like eat or sleep.
• 1K words on The Stupid Novel this morning (so far) upon awakening at 4AM with a scene that I had to get down.
Yup. It seems that the more my to do list snowballs out of control, the more my desire to write kicks in.
My brain is stupid and I hates it.