I went to bed exhausted, slept eight hours, and woke up thinking about a story (for Wild Cards). Ah. I haven't had any impulse towards writing for at least a week, which was starting to really worry me. I felt guilt that I wasn't writing, but not the desire to write. I am not me if I'm not writing. But apparently I am not me if am overly harried and exhausted, which is really unsurprising when you think about it. I'm not sure how last week got so over-scheduled (masses of paper grading, cough), but let's try to avoid that happening again. It is weird when parts of my brain shut down. Some of my favorite parts too.