I am about eighty percent done with the current draft of the writing project that I’ve been working on, and I am sick to death of it. The protagonist’s name is Saul, and I wish he would just give up and go back to his island. The hell with it, Saul, if no one else gives a shit, why should you? When does this sort of behavior become pathological? This book is ruining my sleep, it was a bad idea to begin with, but if I stop now it will never let me alone. I am inching forward, I have to finish this thing, kill it before it kills me.