I need to do other things. I need to do short stories and edits and contract work and other other things, but it's been so damn long getting to this point that I keep thinking, okay, all right, four chapters off the list? Go for it, brain, be my guest. We're finishing off the mouse tornado plague tonight? Fine, mouse tornadoes it is, I'm easy.
This is the point at which people having coffee/lunch/dinner with me is least coherent, and most welcome, I think. Especially people who don't count as people, because people who count as people are difficult at this stage. (What I love about introvert friends, and I think I've said this before, is that you can say, "oh, no, no, you don't really count as people any more," and they will understand that it's a good thing. This is also an advantage to extroverts married to introverts: they've had a chance to witness it if not experience it firsthand.)
Blerrrrrg. If I don't run away from the computer, I will start working on Chapter 43. And I can do that tomorrow. I can, I can. And it will be fine.