"So, wait a second," I said. "How did this happen? Just Thursday evening I was sailing a good couple hundred words ahead of my daily goal."
"But, Row," I replied to myself, "you do know what happened, don't you?"
"No, do go on."
"Well, it began on Friday. You went out that evening--you and five others. Remember?"
"Oh, yes, that's right. We spent the night in town. So? I had intended to make up the loss on the weekend."
"Yes, but that's where the problem started, you see. You went out on Saturday as well, with your friend."
"Oh. I happen to recall that now. Then what happened on Sunday? Do enlighten me."
"You woke up at noon, wrote perhaps a thousand words, and then spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on homework and watching The Avengers."
"Ah, that's right. Shit movie, that was. Waste of a good hour."
"Two hours, actually."
"That's what I meant."
As you can imagine, this conversation disturbed me a little--both because I realized that I had not only had a conversation with myself but had also disagreed with myself, and because I was wasting even more time having the conversation with myself in the first place. So I spent an hour today catching up as quickly as I could. I wrote perhaps two thousand words, and have fallen at a mere 9,926, when today's goal is supposed to be 13,336.
Sigh.
Perhaps it's not the smartest idea to be spending my time writing this post (in fact, it's quite Phail), but I must admit that I'm rather discouraged. I'd hoped to at least be on par by the time this weekend rolls around, so that when I'm babysitting Saturday night, I can chug on ahead of the rest of the NaNoWriMo world. Meh.
In other news, my back and hips are absolutely killing me from that Phail Tumble I took over a fire hydrant Saturday evening. Now I'm bruised and ill. And my NaNo Phailure is hardly making things any better. If the writing gods have become angry with me, I shall appease them.
Tomorrow. (I thank the procrastination gods for allowing me to make that tough decision.)
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