Drill a tiny hole into your head.

The struggle of getting time to write is nothing compared to fighting earworms. I'm not in NaNoWriMo but I'm trying to get my words out, and as much as I like listening to Andrew Bird when he's playing it's not so pleasant when he's bouncing around for hours afterward.

It's not quite a reason, and it's not quite an excuse, and it could quite possibly be classified as a known environmental hazard. I still managed to get a little bit done before the echoing chorus got to be too much, so I can go to bed knowing I have more words than when I started this morning.