That's all I've been hearing.
Me: "Can I blog a little bit now?"
Me: "Can I stop for dinner?"
Me: "Can't I please just have a little bit of sleep?"
Muse: "NEIN!" A whip cracks. A writer whimpers. And then comes the tippity-tap of fingers frantically pounding keys.
I've only been able to sneak a peek at The Washington Monthly in between calls at work, and furtively followed Pharyngula when the Muse finally lets me shovel a wee bit o' food into my mouth. I actually caught a fleeting glimpse of Think Progress earlier, but then the Muse found out, and let's just say she's a fast woman with a whip.
She's going to let me go see Epica tonight. But that's only after some begging, pleading, and promising it was mostly for research purposes.
I don't even get to read books anymore...
And I miss you guys.
Oshit, she saw me. "Coming, darling!"
*Fading sound of a writer's running footsteps as a whip cracks once again.*