While the madness of NaNo is well underway, and my novel is cooperating for once--even a few days ahead of schedule still--I can't help but begin to notice the encroachment of the standard, November Novel side-effects.
Aside from the sleep deprived hallucinations, which don't bother me. My house has started to fray around the edges...the edges that fall under the: dishes, laundry and dusting categories. The eye rolling from family members at dinner time, when I plop four nuked frozen dinners on the table, give a friendly wave and disappear behind the computer, has increased at an exponential rate. Seven layers of deodorant has stopped helping mask the fact that I haven't showered, and my pants are shrinking.
Yes they are.
I haven't exercised in 14 days. My trampoline has converted into a dirty clothes hamper, my cardio glide is caked with dust, and my diet...don't get me started. Wasabi peas count as a veggie serving, right? Coffee is technically a bean, and eating leftover Halloween candy is less wasteful than throwing it away. Think of the starving children in....
But my pants are definitely shrinking, and I have a theory about it. I believe, after much empirical research and experience, that it is NaNoWriMo and not: turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, three helpings of sticky, bread stuffing and an assortment of sugary pies that is responsible for holiday weight gain. Run with me on that, okay?
I keep telling myself I'll drink water next month. I'll do the sit-ups. I will...but holiday hors d'oeuvre trays loom like a tasty beacon just around the corner. It's a double whammie. A month of sedentary typing and snacking followed by the two richest, fattiest food festivals of the year. Nobody could win against those odds.
I don't stand a chance.
Maybe I could pursue litigation against the NaNoWriMo coordinators...maybe they should buy me new pants... Maybe I'll do sit-ups in January.
Don't hold your breath.