It is finished

Well I have done it. 25 copies of my newest story, "the way it was" sit upon my desk stapled and ready to pass out tomorrow morning. It's certainly been an interesting journey.
For those of you who don't know me or my past, I have struggled with what is called PMDD, or pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder.
Essentially, it enhances regular menstrual symptoms-- the moodiness, the depression, the anxiety--all of it. In simplified guy terms, it makes me 'bat shit insane.'
But let me tell you, PMDD has nothing on the mood swings and thought shifts I went through today.

Oh, this is going to be awesome. delete this. add this. I'm brilliant. I can show so much in half the pages it takes my classmates. Bam, watch this genius work. They are going to be so shocked at what the quiet girl in the corner can do.
*Takes break.
UGH. this is horrible. There's no originality in this. It's 5 pages of crap. I could have written this when I was 9. College has taught me nothing. I have nothing interesting to say. I suck. I am talentless and unemployed.
*Runs to Kroger for cookie dough.
I'll just add to the dialogue. This is better. I'll add to this character and change this and describe this. Much better. I CAN write! Oh, very clever. This is good. Maybe I'll get this published.
*Prints before hatred ensues.

I'll probably hate it tomorrow, but at least it's over with. Is this normal? Maybe I need to write with sedatives.

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Stay tuned for a mini-tutorial (usually what not to do) on distressing an old wooden secretary desk AND the lazy alternative to Halloween costumes.