I am still here, despite what the absence of postings might lead you to believe. My nemesis - who I not-so-affectionately refer to as "El Blocko" - has returned with a vengeance. His entire reason for being appears to be the thwarting of all creative writing-related thoughts that my brain would undoubtedly be generating like mad without his interference.
Never fear. I will prevail.
Perhaps were I not also wrestling with so many other enemies, I might be able to win this battle more quickly. Alas, I am under attack from many angles. Milkus Duddus strikes, inevitably, around 10 am daily and again from 1 - 3 pm. I pray that soon the Halloween candy in the office shall dwindle into nothing, eliminating the source of Milkus Duddus.
If I am not battling M. Duddus, The Babies demand my attention. The Babies are delightful, and I fear I am growing quite attached. Despite the multiple-times-a-day needs that they need fulfilled, I find that I cannot bear the thought of their little baby selves huddling in the metal shelter cages.
The Babies - unfortunately - also feed another of my enemies: Condo Dissaray-O. Condo Dissaray-O knows that I cannot tolerate much lack of order, and that - confronted with such situations - I will exhaust myself in my attempts to re-establish the Big O. (Order, you perverts.)
And - perhaps most disturbing of all - I am enlaved to the Corporate Life-Provider. The Provider is - in fact - insisting that even now, this very moment, I leave you all once again and return to my life of servitude.
I shall return.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Sunday Evening Shopping
I was pushing my shopping cart through Target, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, when I accidentally overhead the exchange between a couple walking past me.
"Well," the man - an unhappy-looking, slightly unkempt male in his forties - said in a voice that implied that the conversation had already gone on far too long, "I don't use toilet paper."
"I know you don't," replied his companion, sounding tired. She was an overweight woman, devoid of make-up, with hair pulled severely away from her face.
I knew - immediately - what was going to happen and tried desperately to head it off before it could start.
"Do NOT think about it, do NOT think about it, do NOT think about it," I chanted to my Self, over and over.
Too late.
"What??!!" my Self could not contain her curiousity. "He doesn't use toilet paper???"
"No," I responded (in my head, of course) tersely, "he clearly does not. What else did we need? Milk?"
"But," Self continued, ignoring my attempt to change the subject,"What does he use? Does he use anything at all?"
My Self helpfully conjured up a mental depiction of what the consequences might be if someone were to use nothing at all to clean the nether regions after "certain activities." I grimaced, tried not to gag, and hoped that the people surrounding me in the Target aisles were not noticing the strange faces that I was making as I pushed my cart....alone.
"Maybe he prefers napkins," I suggested, growing desperate to move on to another topic, "I am SURE that we're forgetting something here. TRY to focus. We're not coming back here if you make us forget something."
"Cupcakes?" my Self suggested in a blatantly evil move. "Do you really think he uses napkins? They're so...rough. Like paper towels."
Another unwanted image was imposed upon my brain, and - in my horror - I very nearly crashed my cart into a young man stopped in front of the potato chip display.
"Would you KNOCK IT OFF?" I veered away from the man - pretending not to notice the odd look that he was giving me - and accelerated toward the dairy products. "FIND something ELSE to think about."
It was - as it turned out - an unnecessary outburst. My Self had spotted the peanut butter cookie dough.
"Num!" Self shouted with exuberance. "Remember how TASTY those are???"
"Yes," I agreed, "and remember how many CALORIES they have in them?"
"But I'm HUNGRY," Self whined, "and I WANT them. They make me FEEL better. They're soft, and gooey, and you know how I love peanut butter. I won't be happy if I don't have them. We could take them home and put them in the oven tonight! We could eat them with milk!"
I was growing fatigued from the mental exertion required to keep my Self in check. Staring resolutely forward, I pushed the cart past the cookie dough and congratulated myself on winning the battle despite my weakening resources.
My victory - and resulting relief - was short-lived.
"Look!" my Self shrieked in delight, spotting the objects of desire from nearly half a store-length away, "CUPCAKES!!!!!"
"Well," the man - an unhappy-looking, slightly unkempt male in his forties - said in a voice that implied that the conversation had already gone on far too long, "I don't use toilet paper."
"I know you don't," replied his companion, sounding tired. She was an overweight woman, devoid of make-up, with hair pulled severely away from her face.
I knew - immediately - what was going to happen and tried desperately to head it off before it could start.
"Do NOT think about it, do NOT think about it, do NOT think about it," I chanted to my Self, over and over.
Too late.
"What??!!" my Self could not contain her curiousity. "He doesn't use toilet paper???"
"No," I responded (in my head, of course) tersely, "he clearly does not. What else did we need? Milk?"
"But," Self continued, ignoring my attempt to change the subject,"What does he use? Does he use anything at all?"
My Self helpfully conjured up a mental depiction of what the consequences might be if someone were to use nothing at all to clean the nether regions after "certain activities." I grimaced, tried not to gag, and hoped that the people surrounding me in the Target aisles were not noticing the strange faces that I was making as I pushed my cart....alone.
"Maybe he prefers napkins," I suggested, growing desperate to move on to another topic, "I am SURE that we're forgetting something here. TRY to focus. We're not coming back here if you make us forget something."
"Cupcakes?" my Self suggested in a blatantly evil move. "Do you really think he uses napkins? They're so...rough. Like paper towels."
Another unwanted image was imposed upon my brain, and - in my horror - I very nearly crashed my cart into a young man stopped in front of the potato chip display.
"Would you KNOCK IT OFF?" I veered away from the man - pretending not to notice the odd look that he was giving me - and accelerated toward the dairy products. "FIND something ELSE to think about."
It was - as it turned out - an unnecessary outburst. My Self had spotted the peanut butter cookie dough.
"Num!" Self shouted with exuberance. "Remember how TASTY those are???"
"Yes," I agreed, "and remember how many CALORIES they have in them?"
"But I'm HUNGRY," Self whined, "and I WANT them. They make me FEEL better. They're soft, and gooey, and you know how I love peanut butter. I won't be happy if I don't have them. We could take them home and put them in the oven tonight! We could eat them with milk!"
I was growing fatigued from the mental exertion required to keep my Self in check. Staring resolutely forward, I pushed the cart past the cookie dough and congratulated myself on winning the battle despite my weakening resources.
My victory - and resulting relief - was short-lived.
"Look!" my Self shrieked in delight, spotting the objects of desire from nearly half a store-length away, "CUPCAKES!!!!!"
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