Sad

It's sad when you have a laptop so old that despite having the perfect opportunity to sit at Panera's for a couple of hours and work on your novel (I'm just dying for someone to ask me so I can give that honest answer) the laptop takes a full 40 minutes to boot, and has no battery to speak of making it impossible to set up and run.

It's really sad when you (instead) schlepp yourself to the public library in town (while your son is at youth group doing something as altruistic as raking wet leaves in the pitch dark) to try to beckon the creative muses in your life to get another thousand words squeaked out by tomorrow.

It's really really sad when you cannot concentrate on your novel (again, I just like to say that) because the woman in the cubicle next to you at the library is too busy talking on her cell phone.  You now know all of her grades (all A's, except one F), that her mother does NOT want her walking to the bank alone and all the things she had to say to someone who seemed to be a best friend.  And it's only after she has been talking for a half hour that the library attendant decides to speak with her about their "minimal use" cell phone policy.

It's the saddest of all, however, when, sitting in this very public place, in the antithesis of a safe, intimate environment, you find yourself crying - CRYING - at the words YOU ARE WRITING in your novel (again, I just...well, you get it).  Yes, I knew that part of the plot was coming, I've clearly known it all along.  I just didn't know how it would feel.  And now I do.  And I think, it's very very sad.

Me AND the plot.  We're both very very sad.