- You're wearing yesterday's clothes, that you slept in.
- Your very survival is on the line, due to deals like: "500 more words, and I can eat breakfast."
- The progress you thought you made last night turns out to have all been a twisted, twisted dream.
- You're satisfied that your novel has a beginning and an end, and are willing to leave the middle as an exercise for the reader.
- Your family room floor is covered with index cards arranged in esoteric patterns, which everybody navigates past without really noticing or disturbing.
- You descend into fits of giggles because you roommate identifies an SGA fic based on the desciption, "The one where Elizab--"
At 12K on Monday morning, I'm not even halfway to my target wordcount, the main characters in this romance story are still separated by a galaxy, a universe, and about eleventy billion issues, political and personal, and all they want to do right now is talk about health food.
On the plus side, all my memories of NaNoWriMo have acquired the silvery sheen of the good old days.