The Racing Brain

I currently have a Dorito lodged sideways in my throat. It will just dissolve, and I will be okay, right?

I spend a lot of time convincing myself that I have done enough. I say: I cannot possibly wring another creative droplet from the washcloth that represents my brain. I write for half an hour, and then I am done writing. Or else I will...turn into a pineapple? Forget all of my pleasant childhood memories? Never again be able to enjoy the taste of chocolate?

It hurts to swallow. The Dorito will not break down.

But yesterday, after the Top Secret Project Number One meeting, I came home and re-read everything and pulled out the stuff I want to plagiarize (with permission, assholes) and outlined a couple of new sections. I did this for approximately two hours.

Afterwards, I could not sleep because I had The Racing Brain. I could not stop thinking about TSP#1. When I fell into half-sleep, I dreamed of miniscule murder-mansions.

The question is: Am I limiting my writing time because I know that if I do a lot of it, I'll just want to do more; whereas, if I do it in only small bits, I can't really commit?

Basically, my writing habits are like this Dorito stuck in my throat. No, they aren't. Like, at all. I was just trying to tie it all together.