Maybe the hardest part of finishing this bitch of a self-assignment will be finding the peace to do so. What I'm finding here, in my nicely appointed workspace with an unbeatable view of the bay, is that all the personal shit interferes much more completely when there isn't the monetary incentive to forget it and get some real work done. Jobs are a great palliative, I think.
Or maybe that's all part of it.
All I know for sure at this point is that it sucks to wonder to the exclusion of all rational thought whether the quick and gusty wind outside will take me back home before I have a chance to get a first draft done.
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