Despite the popular theory that due to my sacrilegious experiments of the past two weeks I have been struck into ash by a freak sunny day lightning bolt, I am alive.
I'm locked in this office with a few slices of bread and a tin cup full of water. I'm trapped by a self-imposed 3750 word/day goal, that must be fulfilled or I'll never make my deadline. My wife is my new supervisor. There's an accountability chart on the door. I have minimal access to wi-fi!
Hellish, I tell you.
Why must I slack off. Will someone please give me discipline for Christmas and not of the Mistress Dementia thank you for that heel in my groin may I have another variety?
Thank you, and goodnight.