Last night was totally intense. It all came from me. I have not been out of my house for three days now...and counting. My back aches and now I have a sore throat.

I became completely obsessed with finishing the first draft of my kid's novel.

Yesterday, I forced the writing. I had what I wanted to say firmly in my mind. But, I needed to get it out on paper. So, I wrote in between breaks of sticking my heat pack in the microwave. It wasn't flowing like some days. Today I worked at it.

I walked into my room and flopped on my bed. "I can't write. Who am I kidding!" I said to myself in despair. But I have promised myself not to give up. So, I persevered.

I finally finished a draft. I am way too close to it to know if it is any good. All I know is that I feel like crap both physically and emotionally.

I found my mind wondering to dark thoughts of bad illnesses lurking in my body.

But, I continued to write.

A wonderful friend picked up Kyle from school. He was home before 3:00. He went out and bought me some lunch.

By dinner time I had had it. We decided that Tom would stop over at the local market and pick up some home made soup. That sounded perfect for everyone and easy. Boy was I wrong.

Tom called from the market. They had plenty of chicken noodle soup left but only one container of New England Clam Chowder.

I told him not to buy the chowder because everyone would just want that. I told him specifically to get enough of the chicken noodle soup.

But he didn't listen. He thought I would enjoy some chowder and everyone could share a bit of it.

Well, he heated up the soup and called us all for dinner.

The conversation quickly turned to who was having the fricken' chowder. "Do you really want chowder?" "How much chowder is there?" "Can I just have the chowder?"

The chowder drove me over the top. Poor Will asked, "Mom do you like the chowder?"

And I snapped at him like I have never snapped before. "Forget it, take my chowder. I don't want it anymore, anyway!" I screamed.

Both he and Kyle stared in disbelief.

I thought he was angling for my measly bit of chowder and it made me mad.

Later that night, Will told me that I shouldn't write when I don't feel well. He is right. I also think he knew that if I do, I won't have the patience and sense of humor I usually have.

I was all worn out and the chowder got to me.

I hope one day, poor Will will find this funny.