Don't Burst My Bubble

I wish I had my own bubble of space that I can crawl into, and escape.

No, that wouldn't be escaping. That'd be hiding.

Beside the point.

The point is, I'm finally getting inspiration, but I don't have a place to work in peace. My ideal novel completion date is April 7th. I have to write ten-twelve chapters. That means (from the time I started calculating, which was last week), I have to write one chapter about every three days. It been 7 days since I made this promise. What do I have done? Half a chapter. Four pages. Twelve point font.

I'll never finish this book. Sometimes, I'm just so sick of it, you know? I've been working on this for more than a year. I've written twenty-one chapters. The first fifteen chapters still need to be revised. That's going to take another few months. Just thinking about this gives me a headache. I want to be rid of all this. This book started as my jewel and my pride, but now it's become a heavy iron clasp around my neck.

I need to finish it. I need to finish it. I need to finish it.

I chant those words unconsciously, every second I'm awake. It gets annoying after awhile.