Holding pattern, somewhat.  Indecision grips me and I feel lost, dizzied.  Where does a writer put his focus now….  Stop writing. 

Coffee at right but it doesn’t sound good.  At all.  Something cold.  Or nothing at all.

Go to writing booth and take a couple minutes to self.  Tired in a way that impedes production and I don’t know where it came from.  Maybe I do need more coffee.

A new hobby, or something.  Like what.

Overthinking I thought I was on a path to all but eliminate that inner-contagion.