It’s now almost dusk, and I have spent the entire day putting out minor work-related fires/messing around on craigslist/doing laundry/playing with the cats/tweaking my last.fm playlist. I have not gotten one lick of writing done. And that means I don’t get to take myself out for a nice dinner tonight. All because YOU did not hold me to my four-hour commitment. It is so clearly not my fault that The Book is just as unwritten now as it was this morning.