The Looming Afternoon

Nuts.

“Samuel’s breath was warm like honey as it trickled down Brevyn’s back and pooled at the base of his spine. The doctor had moved in their sleep, his head now cradled into the curve of the Englishman’s spine.” (page 15, Pound by Chloe Stowe)

 

Off to the doctor today.

Yep, time for the monthly gab-fest with my psychiatrist.

Panic disorder, OCD tendencies, a chronic inability to relax for longer than three seconds at a time are, as always, on the agenda.

Fun times.

But I am relatively hopeful that I’ll get my “required” writing on Book Three done before the early afternoon appointment.

I put in an extra 100 last night just to give me a head-start on today’s 700. And if I get on a roll (which has been happening a lot with Book Three) I should be able to churn out some good stuff before my head is shrunk and flambéed by a paid medical professional.

Of course, all hopes of readable creativity will be long gone post-appointment.

Collapsing on the couch.

Popping an Ibuprofen.

Snuggling with my dog.

That will be all I’m good for.

If I’m really brave, I might even try to force some food down my throat.

But, once the immediate after-effects are over, I will feel better about myself. I always do. And that is the point, after all.

*sighs big and bravely*

Ok, let’s do this thing!

Please, wish me luck, 600 words and painless shrinking.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe