I feel like I have a ton on my mind, and it's getting a little overwhelming. I'm not even sure what is on my mind; I just feel a little frazzled. The majority of my craziness is probably the result of some anxiety from the week and excitement for the weekend.
At least I have plenty to look forward too. The next S'n'B isn't all that far in the future, I get to wrap up my Magic Yarn Ball and give it to my partner soon (and I've been finding and making tons of great stuff to stick inside), and we have NO PLANS for the weekend (except probably some Sunday-afternoon football at Casa Athanas).
NaNoWriMo started yesterday, and I got my daily 1,667 words (and then some) written in plenty of time. But I'm having feelings of inadequacy, and I'm tempted to quit writing my mystery about an old lady and a meatball factory. It just seems so dumb. I'm pretty sure I have no choice but to make myself stick with it. This will be my single greatest act of literary faith. Now's my chance to practice the freedom Andre Dubus III taught me and in which I used to believe so strongly. It's only a month, I keep telling myself, and it's okay if in the end it's one big sucky file in your Google Docs. At least you did it.
On top of that is the added stress of WIP guilt (borrowed the term from this blog I read all the time). In one way it's good because I'm super self-motivated to finish up all my projects before starting any new big ones (though the occasional Birthday Cupcake is in order from time to time).
This morning the people upstairs woke us up with some loud, quick rhythms tapped out on the floor. (It's better than other activities we've been woken up by, at least.)
I'm tired, and I want the weekend to start!