Rick: What are you doing?
Me: I’m insulting myself in text.
Me: You’re just not going to touch that one, are you?
Rick: You’re writing your blog for tomorrow?
Rick: It all makes sense.
I have been in the middle of an explosion for like a week now. It’s making me edgy. And grumpy. And twitchy. Although that might be the sleep deprivation. Still. The point is, I’m in the middle of this scene, and it’s just sitting there, all unexploded. Mocking me.
Actually, the fact that I think the text is mocking me may also be a symptom of the sleep deprivation. Then again, my eyes keep getting caught on the phrase, “You’re a fucking reckless muppet!” so the text really is being insulting. It’s just the part where I’m taking it personally that’s a problem. Which is insane. Honestly, if I was going to insult myself it would be much more to the point. You are an infant who eats breakfast at lunchtime, can’t sleep through the night and falls over her own feet. You write utterly ridiculous stories because you are utterly ridiculous, also you’re not very smart and you smell funny. And while we’re on the topic, how can you possibly still be writing the same scene from last week? *cough* Or something.
I swear, I am going to blow this place up by the end of today or, or… you know, it’s surprisingly hard to think up a convincing threat when what you’re trying to do is rip apart the only thing standing between your beloved characters and death.
Why must I blow up the space station they’re standing on, you ask? Well, you see — There’s a thing where — Look, it totally makes sense, okay? They’re just saving their enemies from… their other enemies. Because that’s… I mean… THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT PLOT POINT AND IN NO WAY JUST ONE OF MY MAIN CHARACTERS INDULGING IN A SPOT OF PYROMANIA. I mean, that too, but — plot! Totally happening! Right there!
At least it would be if I was writing it. I am totally going to write it now. Totally. Any second now. Shut up. I’m going to go over here now, and be… over here. Where… I will… write things. Yes. Things. Shut up, again. LOOK, A PRETTY PICTURE.