The stench of failure

At the end of this month I will join the ranks of those who passed before me, those that just couldn't measure up, those that stared in the face of their God and ran in fear from his wraithful word count.
Yup, you guessed it...I am failing at NaNoWriMo.
I jumped out of the starting gate a good pace (well, if waiting till the second week to decide what you're going to write can be considered good) but quickly died out, like the candle flame that's been doused in a bucketful of water. Oh well, there's always next year.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I'm giving up completely. I still absolutely love my story idea and will see it through to the end but I'm just not even going to bother with word counts anymore. Doing so has done nothing for my muse...well, not for that muse anyways (my other one, the one that governs the story I was working on before the month from hell, that one is thriving).
So I will finish this story (eventually!) and I will put in my final word count at the end of the month (maybe!) but I'm not getting my hopes up anymore (already done that a few times and where has it left me? Still crying for Rose, for Carson, for SG1, for the hamster that died when I was just a little girl.).

I can see my gravestone now:
Here lies Jenny, her story was epic, her word count dismal...
(Damn it! Well, its not like I ever claimed to be a poet!)