The update:
As of an undisclosed time on 11/19 I have 24,876 words.

Morale:
I was really looking forward to crossing that halfway point, but it was too hard to type in the fetal position.

Nevertheless, I'm more optimistic about this whole crazy endeavor - I'm back to thinking I can make it.

Something I wrote:

I get a cat. I come home from work and feed my cat. I sometimes pet it while I sit, reading. I’ve gathered that this is something you’re supposed to do. I’m not entirely clear on why, but it doesn’t ask for much, this animal in my house, and I’m trying to fit in, trying to learn a new life. The cat somehow seems to be a part of that.

I know I’m also supposed to name it, but I haven’t managed to do that yet. The only name that really seems right is "Loki". It has his eyes. I consider calling it "Fenris", who has the same eyes, but that’s almost as troubling. Ultimately I take to calling it - on those few occasions I feel compelled to call it anything - "cat". It seems to be getting used to that, and I consider the matter closed.

My new life is dull. Numbing. I love it for that. I still think of Loki, but my thoughts are less tormenting now that I can imagine that he’s faded into a myth. I imagine him loose, roaming, free from pain. I wonder if he’ll find me. I wonder if he’ll understand about the cat.