The Writer’s Brain Never Stops

I’ve mentioned many times the werewolf story that is bedeviling me. Last night I went to bed with the story still pounding in my skull incomplete and useless.
After I fell asleep I dreamt. Nearly every dream in the night was about the werewolf story. Different takes, different points-of-view, different narrative structures in each dream. Sadly, none of them really worked either and all I ended up to show for it was a night of little sleep.
This is what it means to be a writer. Obsession over thing that you cannot control. Like sexuality it is something beyond your control.
Speaking of sexuality — go New Hampshire!