This past weekend, instead of doing anything remotely sane like sleeping or drinking lots of water to fight off the bloat or preparing meals of nutritional significance for my children? I decided to finish the sequel to Meeting Mr. Wrong.
It was the hardest thing I've ever written in my life.
I'm pretty sure it sucks.
I'm sad about a lot of things all over again.
To be fair:
I was writing about the hardest time of my life.
I always think every single thing I write sucks.
It's okay to be sad.
Still. Sweet Fancy Moses, that was rough.