Apparently I need Big Projects to focus my brain, otherwise I have to, like, deal with my unfettered thoughts. The first several days after submitting the manuscript, I was in pure decompression mode. While I genuinely enjoyed writing a whole ass book for and about Loki and Sigyn, it took more of a toll than I realized – I slept for well over 15 hours on Saturday without waking up once.

I’m now relaxed and left to my own devices until the first round of suggested edits come back. What does this mean, exactly?

It means I’m fretting about stuff. Tonight, I’m anxious about The Ring. I love wearing it, but suddenly I’m besieged with worry about ruining it. My head sounds a little something like this:

“Come off it, it’s metal, it’s sturdy, and it’s not like you’re building engines or plunging your hand in vats of battery acid while wearing it.”

But I might. I’m an idiot. I’ve done way stupider things than swan dive into acid vats. I’ll destroy it.

“It’s over a thousand years old. It’s survived centuries. It’s fine.”

This to someone who’s been called “perpetually adjacent to catastrophe.” Not fine.

“It was found in the Ukraine. It’s probably Kievan Rus. It survived Chernobyl. Shut up about it.”

I’ll destroy it somehow!

“You’re not going to destroy a solid metal ring that’s gods-know how many generations old. It’ll outlive you.”

I’m the last of my family line. That’s gods-know how many generations old. My bloodline – Grandpa’s bloodline – ends with me. I’M THE DESTROYER OF LEGACIES. IT’S WHAT I DO.

“… shut the fuck up about the ring.”

Guess I’ll stress-eat a box of s’mores Pop Tarts now. May your evenings be more relaxing than mine!