Out of the abyss.

It has been a horrible 24 hours. I managed to work myself up into an 'I am wasting my time, I have nothing to offer and my life is shit,' state last night, so much so, that my body resorted to its favourite pastime of not sleeping.
I'd not had such a bad bout of insomnia for some time, so the ferocity of it was startling and because I wasn't alone I couldn't put the TV on or play music and dance about (don't knock it till you've tried it) or start making complicated cakes - all good activities for insomniacs. I couldn't even write, because that was the last thing I wanted to do even if I had been able. I was stuck - staring into the dark, the abyss, the lonely night.
Eventually, after a wary but wise boyf left without breakfast and sent a loving text from a safe distance (smart man my boyf), I managed to grab a couple of hours sleep. I was woken by a delivery. Plates. Not just any old plates - pure white bone china dinner plates- 8 of them. Now to some people this may seem an odd thing to make a person feel better, but you know there's not much wrong with a world that can produce objects of such simplicity, beauty and function.
My sister understands, but I doubt anyone else would.
I have now, rescued my work from the bin where I hurled it last night and from the trash can on my computer, I have re-organised my office space, placed my desk adjacent to the window and I feel ready to step back into the fray.
No, I've still not heard from the Agent I emailed asking if she'd like to see this book when done, I've not had any major insights into solving plot and character problems. But I am hopeful and that's all you can ask for in the end.