The details are swallowing me.
Hours of writing yesterday were devoured by my OCD—
Scrutinizing the backstory of a minor character’s father who never draws breath in the story.
Making lists in three different formats on three different platforms about said-inconsequential dude.
Worrying myself cross-eyed over this guy’s 9 to 5 job in 1962…
I make myself sick.
If I could nitpick the mania out of my head with tweezers, I would.