(no subject)

I like writing out of order. You can write Holmes and Watson sneaking around and then a paragraph of making out and then more sneaking around later on, and it feels like the work is getting longer all by itself, rather than always being at the end of it and trying to figure out what happens next. I know what happens next, it's the bit that leads to that part I've already written.

The last chapter of this thing is going to make up for its lateness in length, my god. Nearly 9000 words and it just keeps going. But I think it should be good.

Now sleeeeep, and tomorrow more goddamn packing and then figuring out ordercup and windows 8.

I had an anxiety attack at work this morning, but I took an hour hiding in my boss's office and then kept working, which I guess is something to be proud of.

I so miss having a cat. No space, and my landlord wouldn't like it, and the poor thing would be alone at least nine hours a day.* But. Cat.


*My brother-in-law: "That's why you get two cats!"