Writer's block 1 (please let there be no sequel)

 This evening I have been plagued with some kind of force that's holding my hands back from the keyboard and my mind from doing anything but be productive. There's an irritation and stimulation across my entire body that's holding me back. I can't even have a single thought without it repeating.I've been sitting here trying to work out a scene for the novel. My novel, the rewrite, the thing that's gone along swimmingly for the last few weeks and is suddenly, inexplicably, at a screeching halt at the beginning of act 3. the end of act 2 was so insane and fun to write that I'm at the beginning of act 3 and I have no fucking idea what's not working but something isn't working. I don't even really know what to do here. I've mapped the scenes, given it a little bit of structural thought, and I'm getting caught on fucking technicalities like fingerprints and blocking and what it would feel like to be in his shoes. Chat, what does it feel like to be a murderer. Chat, what does a shotgun feel like right after it's been shot. Chat, what was fingerprinting like in the nineties. Chat, what's the quickest time for a person to become a police informant. Chat. Chat. Chat. FUCK! Shut the fuck up CHase! Stop thinking about the bullshit details and write this fucking rewrite! It's not like you're creating anything new here; it's already thought out. You just need to re-execute it in the new way instead of the old! Stop thinking about the microscopic discomfort of your sweaty feet and dehydrated fingers and fucking type! And next time, maybe don't use the fucking body lotion for your hands then try to write on your mac. And maybe let's take care of the stye in your eye and the weird lumbar pain you've been having. Guess what? That pot of coffee that you drank at ten? That totally fucking backfired and now you're wired but tired and you need to figure your life out. Everything sucks and this blog- this one singular stream of consciousness- is the only worthwhile piece of trash you've written all day. THE ONLY GOOD THING YOU'VE WRITTEN IS SOME OFF-THE-CUFF NONSENSE TO YOURSELF! HOW ANNOYING IS THAT? And it's so foreign because dude I haven't felt this blocked up in MONTHS! My brain seems to be drained of something and I do not have the wherewithal to pump prose out of my guts today. Gotta get a shopvac to get this nonsense out. And it's so fucking frustrating. So foreign. Last week between Wednesday and Friday I wrote about ten thousand words. Seven of those ten were written in a 24 hour period on Thursday night and Friday morning. And they rocked! And on the weekend I kinda wrote a little, and now today I'm cooked shit beyond belief. It's like taking molly and feeling all the serotonin at once then not at all on tuesday. Literally a living breathing anolgy for the suicide tuesdays today. How quaint. 

And while I fully expect to be back up and running tomorrow with a fresh set of eyes, I really hate feeling like this. Here's a list of every physical thing wrong right now. I'm boiling hot in this blanket. My hands feel swollen. My fingers have lotion residue between them and hangnails galore. I have a headache. i have a throbbing stye. My lower back aches. My feet are sweaty. My nose is clogged a little and my throat is dry. I'm tired and my eyes are watering. And after all that, I think I've deduced that I may be dehydrated as a whole. Chugged some water just now. Waiting for the effects to kick in. I guess we'll see. I'm just too hot to function properly. Maybe I need an ice shower or something. 

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