"It is only too true that a lot of artists are mentally ill"

So said Vincent Van Gogh, apparently. And I think we can safely assume that he was right about that one, especially where he was concerned. But, were we to need any further proof, here we have it. This is how I spent the last half hour.
 

 
Me [having spent 20 minutes gazing at the screen without typing a single word]: You're kidding me, right? Right? You spend all night jabbering away in my ear, and now you've got nothing to say?


As-yet-nameless Female Protagonist: Hmm? What's that? [Yawns] Oh, do go away. I am napping.


Me: Well, get up.


[Silence]


Me: OY!


Remy, the Male Protagonist: Oh, hello. Haven't seen you in days. You kind of left me standing at a window. My legs feel a bit achy, not to mention I'm going to be shot at any minute now, so I feel a position of less visibility would be wise.


Me [somewhat sulkily]: Sorry. Go sit down. No, wait, don't. The As-yet-nameless Female Protagonist is about to enter, so you need to look like you're expecting her.


Remy [very reasonably]: But I am expecting her. I just saw her through the window, remember?


Me: Stop making sense, Remy!


Remy: It's kind of hard to stop doing that when things stare you in the face. Like this bloody window. I'm going to move now, if that's all the same to you?


Me [sighs].