My fucking brain: "Hey. Hey, pssst."
Me: "What?"
My fucking brain: "It's October. That means it's November soon."
Me: "Yes, I know. Point, please?"
My fucking brain: "Wellll... Maybe you'll actually have time to focus on nanowrimo this time, and actually participate, like you've been saying for the last couple of years."
Me: "... I have 'time' as you call it because I'm on extended sick leave because you and my body are doing even worse than usual, you fuck."
What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!
Call me MP or Miz
Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.
Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.
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archiveofourown.org/users/MiserablePileOfWordsDreamwidth Fiction
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