My brain is apparently pouting after the way I treated it yesterday. Or maybe it's two nights in a row of insufficient sleep. Anyway, I am in that mood where I open a dozen files, add a sentence to each, and close them all again. Perhaps after dinner, I will be able to add more than a sentence every hour to the book. I am not, however, betting the farm on it.
Days like this were probably made for research reading, and I even have several volumes of relevant material for more than one project, some of which are even contracted to give me money.
Still, the feeling that my brains have gone off on an outing somewhere without me is not a particularly nice one, even when it's a nice outing. This is the mode where staring at the screen will allow me to forget why I'm looking at the screen or indeed that my eyes are open in the first place, not the one where it will annoy me into writing something.
If only I could nap and wake up when my brains return. Instead, I keep drinking water (can't hurt, might help) and daydreaming and realizing that what I'm thinking about cannot by any stretch be related to the book, or any short stories or articles current or future. That while some kinds of thinking qualify as work, this is not one. But the brain is in such rebellion that it's daydreaming smells, and that's much harder to ignore. Stupid brain. I don't suppose anybody wants to trade me brains for the afternoon.