Well, after a delayed start, I am back in the saddle again - trying to work out the corners of Joyce's bizarre mind and get a coherent essay out of it. I am sat with a jug of mint tea, a tissue full of rosemary oil to keep me alert, classic FM on discreet burble and the fire cranked to half way. Alas, this is the Road to Hell.
Have done a LOT of editing, only to find that I am short about 1,000 words, but have been smart enough to have a Ulysses Word Dump in a seperate document so I can use the lines that I have got rid of. Long, long night ahead.
Long, cold, dark night - I cannot fall into your arms.
I am cold, I am doubled up and I can't feel my feet.
!!!!! ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff***ing powet cuttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt !!!!! Plus near heart attack, but thank microsoft for autosave.
Still here, still plodding, still can't feel my feet.
Submitted work 10 minutes ago and I can say with hand on heart, it has been the crappiest piece I have ever written. And I actually don't care as long as I get a mark. I have been awake for nearly 24 hours and now I want to sleep.