TIL: I'm incapable of moving on to the next bit until I get the right words for the current section / passage: any and all efforts to do otherwise are condemned to fuckall zilch, a wasteland of self-doubt, bruised foreheads, and spent dry erase markers.

Came into crystal this morning, when I decided, on a lark (the nothing left to lose varietal), to split a section and found that doing so was the opening (or, rather, the necessary expansion of rhythm) I needed to go deeper and give the words already written the space to breathe and become something more.

Lesson: even the most breathless passages need to breathe.