Slow mo

I seem to be moving perpetually in this weird fog or haze at the moment. Lethargy reigns, and my chapter has stalled somewhat, despite having (and this word I despise more than any other) potential. It's not that my ideas are bad - some of them are actually surprisingly good and I can see how they'll all tie up nicely. Unfortunately some of the text is turgid, turgid, pungent trouble.

I'm not sure what I need to do to get out of it. I'm not even sure why it has descended (or for that matter, ascended) onto me. Perhaps it is because I've finally kicked my addiction to coke and Lift plus (take that, dark lord) and am thus on mega caffeine withdrawal. Perhaps I'm in mourning for Ben, Michelle and the rest of the Star Wars troopers who are convinced that this next installment will be something approaching good. Perhaps I'm worried that I'm only going to have one mochachino. Or that the Highlanders are going to choke again and finish just outside the top four. Again. Or that I saw the sad sad sight of McLaren the other day.

I'm working on a cunning plan. Top-shelf cunning. Not sure what sort of plan it will be, how it will be carried out, why I'm scheming or even what I'm scheming about. But I'm sure it will be very cunning.