I'm utterly miserable. I'm working on my eleventh short story for my collection and it seems that all I can do is generate five or six pages of complete crap. I've changed my threshold. I'm going to wait until I have fifteen before I go back for revisions. The only hope I have is that there is some integrity in a few of these pieces to salvage something.
I'm going to go into work tomorrow, and I'm almost certain they're going to lay me off. So, there's a job search on the horizon. At least there'll be unemployment.
I'm fat and unwashed.
I'm in hell.
But, Happy Fourth of July!
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