Loaded March Metrics

So, yay! I'm back to Loaded March, having successfully evaded the plot bunnies that keep attacking me in dark alleys, on the off-trail path in the park, or while I'm taking a shortcut through my usual running route because it's pouring rain, and I'm not only already soaked to the bone, getting splashed by some asshole driving too close to the curb is not funny anymore.

I had to delete 500 words and start over in the right direction, and today's word count is a paltry 2,000-and-change.  Sneaking in word count in fifteen minute spurts while at work like I usually do just didn't happen today for reasons of long meeting being long, urgent reports needing reporting, and coworkers requiring either a thorough stabbing, a violent clubbing, or their heads smashed together at supercollider speeds in the vain hope that the energy output would be sufficient to create enough firing neurons for measurable brainpower.

Now that I'm home, I've put in the word count, and am declaring myself cooked, because between the throbbing ankle (surprise! I hurt myself running again!), the blurring vision, and the vice that is being installed in the general vicinity of my head, tightening just so in an attempt to eliminate coherent function, the writing just isn't coming out anymore.

Or rather, it is coming out, but in five-word jogs, and finishing a paragraph is taking a geologic age.  The Paleozoic, in case you were wondering which one.

We'll not talk about how long it took me to write this post.

More word count tomorrow, I promise.