Primal cocoa.

I made cake tonight.In a mug.

Four tablespoons each of flour and sugar, and two tablespoons of cocoa, stirred together. An egg, sloppily sloshed around the mug until the mix was wet. Three more tablespoons each of milk and canola oil, with a splash of vanilla extract. Pop it in the microwave for three minutes, and there you have it. A hot ceramic cup brimming with a sickeningly dense, not-sweet-enough stack of empty calories, fit to satisfy only the basest of chocolate cravings.

This apartment, which seemed so sweet and bohemian — so liberating — when I moved in July is now little more than an airless, lightless, claustrophobic cave. And tonight, I am a cave woman full of sushi takeout and hankering for chocolate, but lacking in my usual arsenal of Toll House semisweet morsels.

I am scattered. And tired. My body aches from sleeping in and working from a bad bed with a banging headboard (even when unprovoked) and rock-hard mattress. I miss people. Some afternoons I go out and babble at shop clerks because they're the first person I've spoken to in far too long. I need more yoga pants. In different colors. This is what passes as a fashion statement for me.

I haven't grocery shopped in what feels like months. There are clothes in piles all over my apartment; my sink is stacked with dirty dishes.

This lifestyle change has not been easy: Some days I feel like a rock star — what with the kicking of asses and the taking of names — and other days I feel like this. One of my biggest motivators for quitting my job was being able to save my creative energy for writing. Writing for myself. And now, it seems I have…so few words. Unless I've pissed someone off or something's pissed me off, I just don't find that there's much to write about. Even the concept of NaNoWriMo makes those hunks of cake churn in my stomach.

A chill has settled over Chicago. The holidays are coming.

I have no money, no energy, no motivation. Things never do work out exactly how we plan them, do they?

Something has to change. I need to find my purpose. Maybe it's hiding under one of those piles of clothes. Be right back.