This post is going to be more than a little whiny and self-indulgent, so feel free to skip it. Also: I'll be cursing.
Secondborn woke me up at four o'clock this morning. He, of course, managed to go right back to sleep. I, naturally, did not. Admittedly, it could have been worse; I deliberately went to bed early last night, because I'm in training this week. So this works out to about the same amount of sleep I would have gotten normally.
That isn't too bad, but:
A. I wanted more sleep than that.
B. My day has now started rather earlier than I wanted it to.
C. This training is fairly important; I don't think it's going too far to say that my job security depends on getting a good handle on this software.
D. I now have a couple of hours to myself while everyone else is asleep, which ought to be the perfect opportunity to do some writing, except I can't seem to actually do any writing. (Except this. Which is not at all the sort of thing I'd like to be writing.)
E. I don't think we're going to be able to move out of this house.
This has put me in One Of Those Moods. The kind of mood where I'm forced to confront the fact that I pretty much suck as a writer. The kind of mood where I can't help but fixate on the fact that I've been paying for a storage unit - for nearly a year now - which has apparently been a complete waste of money and effort. The kind of mood where I can't seem to focus on the fact that actually, we're pretty well off... because I'm utterly fixated on my inability to make any progress on any of the projects that matter to me.
So, y'know, fuck it. Yeah, sure, in the grand scheme of things, we're doing pretty well. This is all pretty minor - First World problems, as it were. I don't care. I'm just going to take a little time and indulge my frustration and my melancholy. And maybe just sit in a hot shower for a little bit.
 In fairness, it's not that I think my writing is bad in itself. I suck as a writer because I can't gorram finish anything. And yes, I know, it's all a matter of Making Writing A Priority and Getting It Done, but there are only so many fucking hours in the day, I only have so much energy and concentration, and there's a lot of other shit that needs to get done, too.
 We started looking at selling this house and moving to a larger one last February. That means I've been renting the storage unit since March or April. At this point, I honestly don't think moving to a new house is feasible. We can't afford a house that fits all of our criteria, and even if we somehow could, we can't manage to get this house ready to sell. Short of a winning lottery ticket - which would be tricky, since I don't buy lottery tickets - we can't move, and the beautiful wife won't allow any of the stuff in the storage unit back into this house. (And, yes, a fair chunk of it is hers.) So, really, I should have just sold, trashed, or burned all that crap, and saved myself the thousand-or-so bucks that I've spent so far to give it a "temporary" home.
 Yeah, welcome to my brain.