My break is probably over.
My break from this job, to work at another job, to pay for this job. I still need another job to pay for this job. But my break from this job is over. I should be doing that job - that I don’t have yet - and this job concurrently, should that job search pan out.

MY malfunction… my major malfunction, as those in the Armed Forces have called it, is the way that my brain works. If I have dedicated a thought in action, it will have been in my retrospect that I have performed that action, although I have not. Does that make sense?

If I think hard enough about playing chess, although I haven’t actually played the game, my mind will have thought that I had. I will feel as mentally strained as if I had done that action without having done that action. That’s how my brain works.

It’s shit.

I haven’t done a lot as a result.

But when I went into the Dean’s office today - well, after he sort of pulled me into his office as I was walking past, he told me that I have more of my novel written than he has of his. So that made me feel good. That makes me feel accomplished. That makes me feel awesome. I feel like I need to finish the fucking thing now more than ever, so that I will just be fucking done with it. I call myself a writer, but it’s not fucking done yet.

I’m sitting at the coffee bar next to the espresso machine on Broadway right now and all that I want is for the manuscript in my briefcase to be the finished product. I want to be DONE. DONE. I’m not done. I’m probably going to have to change the announcement on my site. It’s not done yet. It won’t be ready Summer 2016, and I feel like shit.

But it’s tangible. I can hold it in my hands. I can say “I’ve done this much of it.”

So, there’s that.

Where have I been the last two months? Go fuck yourself. Stop asking so many damn questions. If I’m nice, I’ll tell you later.

But I think I’m back.

I think.