The update:
As of 11:59 p.m. on 11/14 I have 72,565 characters...but only 17,028 words.

Morale:
Eh.

Yet another dialogue-heavy passage of the day (if only it were NaPlaWriMo):

I find my mind wanders more than it used to, and I’ve developed the unconscious habit of singing aloud the fragments of songs that continue to spill into my thoughts from nowhere.

"In time the Rockies may crumble
Gibraltar may tumble
They’re only made of clay - "

"What’s a Rocky? What’s a Gibraltar?"

"I don’t know. Pots, I guess."

"Huh. Why would anyone make up a song about pots?"

"No idea."

"Well if you’re going to sing them it would be nice if they made some sense."

"I won’t sing them."

"Fine. That’s fine with me. It’s not like I can get up and leave if they get on my nerves."

"I know that."

"I’d just think you’d have some consideration."

"Excuse me?"

"Some consideration. For my predicament. I’d think you’d have some."

"Our predicament."

"Oh, no. I’m not talking about our predicament. I’m talking about my predicament - being subjected to these incoherent little fragments."

"I said I won’t sing them."

"You always say that. And then a day or two or three later, there they are again, pieces of ridiculous songs about the pot of Gibraltar."

"Maybe it’s a statue."

"What?"

"Gibraltar. We don’t know it’s a pot. We only know it’s made of clay. Maybe it’s a statue. Would that help? Would that be less irksome for you, if it were a statue? Let’s just say it is, shall we? Let’s see if that makes everything better."

"You know, I’m really beginning to hate you."