This week, it's all gone horribly wrong. I've got a bunch of friends coming round on Friday for a long weekend of computer games, with the last of them not leaving until Tuesday. For four days, my brain will be full of nothing but games, cider, junk food and chat, and I'll have a wonderful time, but it will be enough to totally drive my muse into "Shan't!" mode if I go into the weekend with an unfinished story and try to pick up the threads next week.
The trouble is, the story I started two weeks ago, confident that I'd finish it in time if I worked hard, has grown somewhat, and now looks like being nine chapters, rather than the six I'd vaguely expected back in my original "haven't really bothered to plan it out yet, but we'll see" stage. I had to work on Saturday, got up at 5 to walk a stupid distance in a howling gale yesterday, failed to get much sleep last night due to painful legs, and thus am rather too tired tonight to get much done. (My muse also refuses to play when I'm tired.) I've got to go out for all of Wednesday evening, and go to London all day Thursday. I've got about 25 pages to go, and while I probably can finish it (first draft, at least, which is what matters for now) if I work like a mad thing and don't stop for anything else, I'm really not sure if I want to. I'm tired, there's stuff to do to prepare for the weekend, I want to carry on with the drawing part of my story, and there's lots of other stuff I'm keen to do, too.