However, it's at least affecting my novel in a good way. I wrote this out and I had to share it, because I'm really proud of it:

"The act of wanting someone so much occupied so much of my time I started to wonder why anybody actually did it. Why anyone would consciously decide to give their feelings, their emotions, their heart to another human being.

At work, I'd sit there for hours wondering and pondering the act of love. How it could be so beautiful at times, yet so tragic at others. Like when the sun goes down and there's a layer of darkness overhead, and he leans down to give you a perfect kiss, and then whisper in your ear, "I wouldn't want to share this moment with anyone else but you." And then when the sun comes back up, he's gone, and so was the music in the sunset. The music that assured the moon and the stars that the romance was not going to die, it was going to last forever, like a perfect fairy tale.

Except the fairy tale never lasts, and the sun always sets."

Yeeyuh. I'm so scared of fucking this novel up. I want it to be so good and I want everyone to identify with it, and I think that's why I'm having such a problem really getting into it. But I did write about 2000 words today. It's like my own person Nanowrimo. Or something.

Anyway.. rock on.