Seventy-Eight Words

Tonight I accidentally lit my hair on fire with a candle.

Tonight I ate the following: a pound of rice crackers, three milk chocolate eggs, three Brach's Fiesta Malted Eggs, two mini Snickers, a slice of sour cream coffee cake. (All of this after my dinner.)

Tonight I played two hours of The Sims 2.

Tonight I learned that The Black Donnelly's has been canceled, which means my love affair with Jonathan Tucker and the way he hardly moves his mouth when he talks will have to end. Now Mondays will cease being The Day I Spend Considerable Time Wishing I Could Put My Hands in His Hair.

Tonight I spent my time consumed with all of these things for one specific reason: I couldn't write. And I tried every trick in the book to break out of the block. I played some Martin Sexton, ate some chocolate, lit some candles. That got me seventy-eight words. Seventy-eight words that aren't good, that sound crappy, that led nowhere, that made me pace, that made me put my head down, that made me eat too much and think too much and obsess too much.

I need to snap out of it.