So I’ve just finished a draft (final?) of something and the feeling is always like finally arriving at your hotel after an incredibly long, grueling, farcical series of misadventures.
It’s over. It’s done. You’re not dreaming.
There’s a tired, weighted sigh of relief… the feeling that holy-shit-I-really-need-a-drink…
But what to do now?! (Besides opening the mini-bar, obvs.) The possibilities are overwhelming in their lack of limitations.
And hence: hours of vacant (drunken) staring. Then the abyss stares back.
It’s kinda like time travel. Or like waking up from a coma.
You try to get in touch with people who have likely forgot you existed. (Hi, guys!)
Maybe, just maybe, you start blogging again.