Do you ever stand in a doorway and press your arms against the walls of the door frame and press and press and press until you start to feel like a real doof, then you step away and your arms float up like they have balloons tied to them and it feels a little out of your control and silly and like you don’t know what to do next because, let’s face it, it’s hard to do much with your hands flying up around your ears?
That’s what I feel like now that the draft of the new book is turned in. I have a million things to do, but I’m just wandering around the house not sure what I should do first.
Me = village idiot.