I stare like a lemur at anyone who asks me a question. Confronted by a grocery list, I try to remember the name of something--anything--that I eat. I decide never to leave the house for anything, ever again. I'll just learn to photosynthesize. If I can remember what that means.
... In other words, it's Day Three of the first draft. Of trying to live more in the story than out of it. And it's bringing on all the usual symptoms.
I get a bit dizzy. I put things in the wrong places. I try to make sense when I'm around other people, but what I'm actually thinking about is how the protagonist's aunt manages to bring up three very important bits of information without sounding like blah, blah, blabbity-blah.
Basically I'm trying to get myself to breathe the air of an alternate reality.
I love this quote so.
I'm no opium fiend, I hate injections, and I've never had the slightest desire to inhale smoke of any sort. But I have been deeply and persistently and unshakably bookdrunk, for days on end.
And right now, I'm pretty much tumbling back down that rabbit hole.
Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind. -- Rudyard Kipling