Not really, but it feels like it.
My seven month old kitten Cherubino went to the vet this afternoon. She’s getting spayed tomorrow morning. It’s eerie how quiet the house is without her scampering about, attacking my ankles while I sit here and write, and lay on my forearms when it’s time to pay attention to her.
I’m halfway through a paper for my literary critique class that’s due at midnight. You have no idea how giddy with joy I am. After I am done and submit it to my prof, I get to write whatever I want to write. Now watch the creativity dry up.
Give it a few days. There’s a plot in my brain that’s been wanting to get out for a while.