That Damn Little Voice

Here it is another Sunday to post and nothing is coming through, just like last week. That’s why that week is empty. The same thing is happening with my writing. I try playing “what if” and it falls on its face.

Did you really try?

Well I. . . .

Tsk tsk Be honest.

Hey my cat is sick. I’m worried.

You already took the cat to the vet and you’re bringing him back tomorrow. Besides this lapse has been going on long before Chester got sick.

I’m really busy being president of a writing group.

Excuse. Other presidents are able to write.

Yeah well, if the other presidents jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge does that mean I should too?

That doesn’t even make sense.

Sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind. See what I mean! My mind’s not clicking cohesively.

And whose fault is that?

My synapses! They’re having a block party somewhere and they didn’t invite me.

Have you invited them to your creative parties lately?

Yes but attendance is usually low.

Because. . .?

Well I . . .

Yes?

Because I tell them at the last minute and then we play computer games most of the times. OK, are you happy?

There’s no reason to get huffy is there? As long as you understand what’s going on, that’s what matters. I knew the real reason all along. I just wanted to hear you to say it.

You’re a smug little bastard, aren’t you?

Call it what you want. Now let’s talk about those excuses for not quitting smoking.

Oh, get the hell out of here.