44,514 Words of Paranoid Delusion

Day 26 of NaNoWriMo: November is almost over. We’re on the home stretch, slowly dragging our way to that illustrious 50k finish line, like a dismembered, self-possessed zombie limb creeping up on an unsuspecting ankle.

After all this time writing, the aptly named forum title on NaNoWriMo’s official website : ‘NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul’, is starting to make sense to me. With every Facebook status in November an update on a milestone word count, every WordPress post about the perils of writing on an everyday basis (ha, who am I kidding, I don’t have time to blog…), every request made by my mum answered with ‘but I have to finish my words’… yes, it has happened, I’ve become Nano-hermit. No, I haven’t stopped showering, my personal hygiene is still immaculate, but I have perhaps gone a little stir crazy. Which is to be expected, being cooped up in my own head all day.

I thought a change of scenery would help, so I took my laptop to a cafe – ‘please, monsieur, just keep the earl grey tea coming’ – Ah, yes a date with my laptop and all my screwed up, issue ridden characters – ‘why you give me two pots of chilli soy chai? Do I look like that much of yuppie? And what the hell is chilli soy chai, anyhow?’ – Needless to say that exercise lasted about 2 hours and around 600 something words.

However, it must have put me in good stride, because for the first time ever that stupid little grey bar went past the daily expected average line. Whoop! Yes, a small win, a feeling that perhaps lasted until I realised dinner was a carrot. And that I hate my life. And that I should probably stop checking my Facebook in a state of paranoid delusion that I’ve annoyed everyone. Because that’s what happens when I cut myself off from all normal social interaction. I become weird, and start thinking that the outside world doesn’t like me. Which may or may not be true. But, seriously, look at this face, aww, who wouldn’t love this face.

Stop looking at me.

Ah, curse you NaNoWriMo, you fickle beast. Soon I will slay you, and you will be my floor rug. Or my yoga mat, because I really need to stretch out these cramped up muscles. Eh hem, you’ve also made me fatter, and required me to wear my glasses more often. Luckily for you, I look damn fine in these glasses – they don’t at all draw attention to any unsightly jiggly bits – but that new massage chair your mum’s boyfriend bought does, so let’s just use that in the privacy of our own company, shall we?

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