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Yesterday, Tuesday, was by far not my best day. The night before I found it impossible to get decent restorative sleep, waking constantly throughout the night, suffering nightmares, and finding the air from my CPAP machine had suddenly become far too warm and wet.

It was no surprise that when my alarm sounded to rouse me for a day of work and writing, it brought me into a raging migraine headache.

I called in to the day-job, took my medications, and waited for nine hours for the pills to finally quell the headache. They normally get it done in two hours, but this stress-induced attack proved stubbornly resistant.

Needless to say, in addition to missing a day of work, I got nothing done on my novel, which only made me feel emotionally even worse.

I still have high hopes of completing the first draft, this very rough draft, by the end of September and perhaps having a completed manuscript before the end of the year—provided the evil migraine demons are not too vigorous in their assaults.