...and more bitching

Water has started to drip from the light fixture in the bedroom. Which is over the bed. Only a few drops, but I just know that it will be getting worse soon.

Deep breaths. Only a fortnight to go, and five days of that in Portland.

(no subject)

You know how, when you write a story, and especially a long story, you can get into the head of the POV character? Well, will someone please come rescue me? I really don't want to be in Jack Bristow's head right now. He's scaring me. I mean, I get that he's upset, fine, but I really don't want to be around when his control snaps. Help?

Damn. I need a no-angst clause.