I decided tambowrites had the best name for the "reaching the end of this book is like cutting something in half and then again and again but it's infinite because you can always cut it in half again" syndrome: Novelist's Event Horizon. I am at the Novelist's Event Horizon. The end of the book is always going to be three chapters away. Nothing I do will ever change that fact. Eventually Lawrence Fishburne will arrive to lead me through a space-time continuum of Hell, but at the last moment we will be dragged back, kicking and screaming, much like Paris Hilton unto jail, and there will be no escape.