Time to Consider
Stop writing… you’re drunk.
“Fuck you, brain. God damn, you have to ruin everything, like a pool full of kindergarteners, gotta piss all over my parade. I’ve somehow scribbled over 180 pages so far, easily half a book. What you got to say about that, asshole? Yeah, I thought so.”
You do realize you’re being ridiculous.
“No, I’m not. You’ve plagued me my entire life. Mugging me, beating me with a lead pipe whenever I try to sleep, making me hide in a corner while everyone else enjoys life.