So far, I’ve written almost 6K words this month.

In NaNo terms, I suck.  I should have at least 30K words written by now, but life has gotten in the way.

Not only did my laptop develop a nasty virus, but my beloved Miata, now my second car, thank goodness, died, literally. It emits not a single sound when I turn the key.

This week I have spent numerous hours with my new friend Norton in Safe Mode and have since conquered the nasty Powelik Trojan, but the Miata is still quiet. My car savvy friends–my engineering degree involved fluid dynamics, so I can tell you why it drives fast, but not why it won’t start–anyway, my car savvy friends think it could be a freaky battery problem or something as simple as a burnt fuse. I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure it out because on top of car and laptop problems, work has been an absolute pain in the hiney.

The fact that I wrote nearly 200 words today, besides this blog post, is an accomplishment, at least in my world.

So NaNo, as much as you remind me of my ex-husband or maybe because you remind me of my ex-husband, I’m breaking up with you. I love you, and I absolutely hate you. I always thought you would be able to lift me up, but I know now that I was putting too much responsibility on you. I thought that every minute away from you would be an unbearable misery, but you know what? It’s not. Real life, for me, has to take precedence.

I’m okay being alone. Really.

And I know you’ll be better off without me. Without me bringing your numbers, your statistics down.

What can I say? It’s not you. It’s me.

(Actually, you can think whatever you like to feel better about yourself. I don’t care. What I’ve said isn’t a hundred percent true, but I’m okay with you making me the bad guy.)

And to be kind’ov honest, I never really loved you that much anyway.