Unpresent

One thing I didn't expect when I started writing fiction during the day is how braindead I'd feel by evening.

Like somebody stuck a straw in my brain and sucked out all the matter.

What's a matter?

Nothing a pot of coffee can't fix.

I'm about to do that thing where I jump in over my head and hang on for dear (or deer) life. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I get stabbed in the neck by antlers. In about a month I'll know which one wins this time.

Stupid antlers.