If you look very carefully at my eyes, you might see a very small cardbord sign propped up in one of my pupils which reads, "HELP! KIDNAPPED! TRAPPED! Kisses, SW."

I've been working ten hour days this weekend, completely wrapped up in an imaginary Albuquerque with imaginary people who are busy leading imaginary lives that I have to write down.

To Adam's dismay, it takes a upwards of a full hour to pull myself out of my head and back into the land of Functioning Adults. For the first fifteen minutes, I've still got story chatter in my head, for the next half an hour, I'm listening to what's being said and responding -- in my head. And for the last fifteen minutes, I can just about function, though it takes enormous concentration and my answers verge on zombiesque grunts, and then fifteen minutes after that, I'm fine.

Except by the time the hour's up, I have to sit back down and work more, and anyone who's been around me is completely fed up with the process and has gone off to do something else.

I will be so glad when this is over.