Yup, it's now officially one week till my deadline for handing in NDC, and the forecast is: 'Not A Bloody Chance!' Which is a shame, but short of pulling several all night writing stints there's no way I'll make 150,000 words. And even if I did try to stay awake that long, it's likely I'll just wake up at four in the morning to find most of the new words have been made by my forehead impacting on the keyboard. And it's hellishly hard to clean drool out from round the spacebar.
Plus it's getting a bit hard to concentrate: since the surgery I've had the same bloody headache, all day, every day. With that and feeling sick, it's a bit like having a permanent hangover, only without the nice bit of getting drunk first. So the words are coming slower, and slower, and s l o w e r . . . I'm going to get such a spanking when I go down to sign the contract for books 4, 5 and 6. And not the fun slap and tickle kind either. *sigh*
Yesterday didn't help either: morning spent picking a huge chunk of metal up from the vets, then a couple of hours in town getting She Who Must Look Less Scruffy At Work a new black suit, and then back to Chez MacBride to play host to Googling Brother and his family. He'd brought three quarters of the EC Pizza Mountain with him, which we all managed to eat while watching a DVD of the new King Kong. Which was... Well, lets just say it needs a bloody good edit in the same way that Peter Jackson needs a bloody good slap. SIL Kim's one word review: 'Pants'. I didn't think it was quite that bad, but it was bloody ridiculous.
Still, a fun enough way to spend an afternoon. The only thing missing was a whole pile of beer, but then booze and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye at the moment. Possibly because of the permanent hangover thing. Mind you, I can just bend down and stand up quickly: that's a bit like being very, very drunk.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pretend to do some work.