When you decide the world is too big, and there are too many things on your list to do, and you'll never get to them, and ALL IS LOST, go to bed.
When you get home and the floor – toilet – sinks – counter – dishes – corners – dogs need cleaning and you can't find a place to start, go to bed.
When you think of the word ENTROPY and all that it means, and how your little inside-the-house universe is spinning completely out of your control, and how everything is going to fall apart sooner rather than later, go to bed.
When you know you should write because you're so damn close to the end you can almost hear the exit door flapping in the wind, but the book is at such a sad part that your heart is breaking, and you'll probably never be able to write again, go to bed.
I went to bed this afternoon after a perfectly lovely RWA meeting (it was a good meeting — I didn't see the mean reds sneaking up on me at all). Lala made me go lie down — I wanted to FIX/MAKE/DO all the things, and I was seriously freaking out. So I went to bed. I read for about an hour and then slept for four.
Know what? When I woke up, the world was lovely again. Mean reds gone. Ka-bap. It took me forty-five minutes to put the house to rights (longer to mop the floor after I dropped the milk glass, but oh well), and chaos is again neatly corralled.
I'm even going to write a bit more, too, until Lala gets home, and then I'm going to hang out with her and do something fun and silly like play Zombie Dice, because there is no fun like a game that involves counting brains and shotgun blasts.
NorCal folk, Please come see me in Petaluma? Copperfield's, 7pm. I'm really excited.
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