Not in the slow, graceful way of the aging woman of character. Fast and loud.
For instance: I do things, regular house-y things or different elsewhere things, only to check progress and find that I didn't do them at all. Like? Oh, how about the laundry that should be dry by now but instead is moldering in the washing machine EVEN THOUGH I PERFECTLY WELL REMEMBER SWITCHING IT OVER. Or the bed, that I absolutely remember making this morning when I got out of it, now rumpled and messy, with all the covers on my side. Or that bread I bought at the store, because who has time to NaNo and bake bread? But where is it? Not in the cupboard. Not in the fridge. Not in the freezer. Not in the pantry. So I fervently check my receipt so I can call the market and righteously demand they return the hostage bread I bought... which is not listed on the receipt.
This works both ways with writing. One morning I wake early, check the draft from yesterday, find where I was working and look for that funny paragraph. You know, that one that made me laugh while I was typing. That one where the guy goes to the place with the thing? Lost. Can't find it. So I read the entire manuscript, which is up to 22,000 words by now, searching for that funny paragraph.
It does not exist.
But want to know what does? A different scene, written with only slight variations, in at least three places. That scene that seemed so easy to write, so natural (maybe because I've written it seven times before). Ack.
Bye, Sanity. I enjoyed your stay, brief as it was.
It's not you. It's your evil twin. She's totally messing things up in a fit of pique.
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