I used to have a life with uninterrupted, day after day time to write, but that went away. I've mourned the loss, whined about the inefficiency of having to re-immerse over and over, despaired that this hour here and there crap would produce nothing worth anything.
But today, so far, has been a gift of duty-free time and I think I finished the dang essay. I'll let it stew for a few days, but I have hope that the next time I read it there will be a minimum of clunky-sentence shame and overwrought vocabulary embarrassment. And if I'm lucky, only quiet groans of bad-ending anguish.