Yikes!

You can do it, pup! Go pup! It'll be okay! You'll do great!

Deep breaths. You're doing great! Think of all the people you're helping! You won't screw up! You're doing good things!

The car is coming to pick me up for the airport in 3 hours! And I'm not showered! And I'm not dressed! And I'm not packed! And the clothes haven't arrived from the laundry yet! And I'm "at" work (via the power of the internet).

Oh no! I have total faith that you'll be able to pull it off.

Go go gadget Teeps!

You can do it! Start....now!

¿Δ!

Go Pup!

Honey, I am absolutely positive that you can do all this with one hand tied behind your back (you don't have one tied behind your back do you, 'cause that would be kind of kinky). You write like a dream without even thinking about it, and I know you've compiled a ton of information. Just sit, and write. I know exactly how you feel, because this is exactly how I always felt before my deadlines - as though I hadn't done enough research, didn't have enough time, and could never ever write the fucking thing. But once I started, I almost always realized I had so much more information than I could ever use.

And even when I didn't, nobody ever noticed. Never ever. A tiny bit discouraging, really, to understand that 3/4 of the work I did was never even necessary or appreciated, but there you go,.

Solidarity mudpuppie. I will be working through the weekend with you.

Sixteen thousand words and wha do ya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
I'd like to leave, but I can't go,
I owe my time to various faceless financial institutions.

I never understood why "freelance writer" didn't rank higher on the stressful jobs list. It's impossible to do anything with deadlines looming over you. Draw yourself a bath or linger in the grocery store and your mind starts screaming, "We do not have time for this! Why are you doing this when you need to be writing?!?"

It's crazy-making. I feel for you 'pups. Big time. When it's all over, get a massage or buy yourself an extra nice case of beer. Whatever it takes to relax and reward yourself.

Little bites, YOUUUU CANNNNNN DOOOIITTTTTT!

I'm still at work, hacking the mainframe and fucking with the accounting software, aka IKILLYOUFUCKER Pro edition 2007. SolidariTAY!

Make your cat type it. After all ...

My cat recently laid down on my keyboard (she likes to sleep on my wrists, only they weren't there at the time) and proceeded to execute a series of keystrokes that a) selected a large chunk of text in an article I'd been writing, b) deleted that text, c) closed the document.

here's an intro to get you started.