SO THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA

I may have mentioned at some point my tendency to come up with terrible plans?  I did not think that my two week writing detox was going to be one of said terrible plans.  I thought it was a, dare I say it, sensible idea which would give me a chance to swab out my apartment and interact with persons who are not, like me, reality-challenged.

But it's been ten days and I am going absolutely bats.  Without my preferred avenue for draining off my excess energy, I am forced to expend it in other, arguably less productive ways.  Within the past week, for example, I have:

• Spent far too much time crayoning specimens of vampyroteuthis infernalis, the vampire squid from Hell;
• Built a super-elaborate cat fort out of blankets, safety pins, and cardboard;
• Lost my bra in a burger joint while I, acting in a consultative capacity, offered my wisdom on the subject of Alaskan orgies;
• Driven myself mad attempting to figure out how a shark would wear a headband if he dressed up as Rambo for Halloween.

 NO MATTER WHAT I DO IT JUST DOESN'T LOOK RIGHT.