Why writers are hermits.

I have made a quick stop at home to eat a healthy lunch of left-over Moroccan vegetables with couscous. An excellent Jacquelyn creation (the food - not Morocco) but not quite as good as the amazing sweet-and-sour chile cilantro roast pork she made last night.  We had kiwikat  and shevus  over and we ate and drank mojitos and built a roaring fire in the fireplace (that's the safest place for indoor fires) and played a harrowing, white-knuckle-brawl, ruthless game of StarWars Monopoly.  Good times!

The only bad part is that recent socialization has kept me away from NaNo for the past two days.  I must get back to it tonight!  I need an antagonist!  Back to work!

Obama Already Talking to Violent, Unpopular World Leader Without Preconditions

I have seen this in action.

After a successful encounter with the unconscious, confession - catharsis, the patient goes away apparently cured - but now, he is so fascinated by the hinterland of his own mind that he continues to practice catharsis by himself at the expense of his adaptation to life. He is bound by the unconscious - to himself. He has obviously shared the experience of Theseus and his comrade Pirithous, in their descent to Hades to bring back the Goddess of the Underworld.  Tiring on the way, they sat down to rest for a while, only to find that they had grown to the rocks and could not rise.  -CGJ