The Swallowing

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…

Yeah.

I make myself sick.

If I could nitpick the mania out of my head with tweezers, I would.

Just saying.

Until tomorrow…

Tweezer-less Chloe

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