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I was very industrious and worked on balancing my checkbook tonight. The goal for the next several days: clean the office. The idea is to metaphorically clear the decks and then try to get back to the book.
I actually had an idea on it today: I thought, maybe Solveig has seasonal affective disorder. I don't know why, but this idea pleased me. Maybe because I have SAD myself. But it has something to do with that summer/winter lightness/darkness stuff. You know, theme. I sometimes get the most done when I brood about theme. (*Sigh* Well, I could hardly get less done.)
I guess I just note it, not because it's a necessarily a good idea, particularly, but because it's a hopeful sign that my backbrain is starting to brood about fiction again.
I actually had an idea on it today: I thought, maybe Solveig has seasonal affective disorder. I don't know why, but this idea pleased me. Maybe because I have SAD myself. But it has something to do with that summer/winter lightness/darkness stuff. You know, theme. I sometimes get the most done when I brood about theme. (*Sigh* Well, I could hardly get less done.)
I guess I just note it, not because it's a necessarily a good idea, particularly, but because it's a hopeful sign that my backbrain is starting to brood about fiction again.
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I have SAD, (though much worse in Britain than here in the Cold and Frozen South) and I once explained it to a friend doing a lit degree who said that if I were in a medieval poem this would prove I was a solar hero.
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I think you've got something there. Continue brooding!