To the words in my head:
It never ceases to amaze and exasperate me how you suddenly start bouncing around in my head on Pogo sticks, like kids high on candy, the second I turn my laptop off. But when it's on? Oh no! Then your kin must flee to skulk in some nook or cranny in the recesses of my mind, refusing to comply, like a teen that just hit puberty. You wouldn't deign to linger long enough for me to open a Word document, or find a notebook or some paper to scribble your form on, no matter how much I plead. You even made me miss my self-imposed deadline of publishing a post every fortnight. Selfish gits, the lot of you.
It gives you great satisfaction doesn't it, when I stare blankly at my laptop screen, waiting for you to come out of hiding and flow as beautifully and effortlessly as you do when I'm otherwise occupied. It's not that you're timid, oh no. Your hyperactive babbling is evidence enough of that. You refuse to relent even when I am in the office and have a demanding assignment on hand; you know well enough that I can't turn my back on it and pay attention to you!
This other matter has little to do with my alternate career as a writer, which, thanks to you, currently hangs from a precipice, but why not bring it up now and get it done with?
You do the opposite when I must make a point to someone. You deliberately disobey all rules of sentence structure, and shatter the very foundations of coherency in communication when I open my mouth to validate my thoughts, thus making me sound like a blithering idiot.
As far as writing is concerned, well, you can't elude me forever. For in just a few hours I will finally receive my iPhone that I so despise from the repair shop where it's been languishing for the past two weeks (the reason behind my distaste for the gadget will serve as a story for another time). Enjoy your shenanigans while you can. Your infantile antics are about come to an end, as I intend to lasso you and pin you down mercilessly onto the Blogger app the second I have my phone back online.
Consider yourself duly warned.
- A disgruntled writer
It never ceases to amaze and exasperate me how you suddenly start bouncing around in my head on Pogo sticks, like kids high on candy, the second I turn my laptop off. But when it's on? Oh no! Then your kin must flee to skulk in some nook or cranny in the recesses of my mind, refusing to comply, like a teen that just hit puberty. You wouldn't deign to linger long enough for me to open a Word document, or find a notebook or some paper to scribble your form on, no matter how much I plead. You even made me miss my self-imposed deadline of publishing a post every fortnight. Selfish gits, the lot of you.
It gives you great satisfaction doesn't it, when I stare blankly at my laptop screen, waiting for you to come out of hiding and flow as beautifully and effortlessly as you do when I'm otherwise occupied. It's not that you're timid, oh no. Your hyperactive babbling is evidence enough of that. You refuse to relent even when I am in the office and have a demanding assignment on hand; you know well enough that I can't turn my back on it and pay attention to you!
This other matter has little to do with my alternate career as a writer, which, thanks to you, currently hangs from a precipice, but why not bring it up now and get it done with?
You do the opposite when I must make a point to someone. You deliberately disobey all rules of sentence structure, and shatter the very foundations of coherency in communication when I open my mouth to validate my thoughts, thus making me sound like a blithering idiot.
As far as writing is concerned, well, you can't elude me forever. For in just a few hours I will finally receive my iPhone that I so despise from the repair shop where it's been languishing for the past two weeks (the reason behind my distaste for the gadget will serve as a story for another time). Enjoy your shenanigans while you can. Your infantile antics are about come to an end, as I intend to lasso you and pin you down mercilessly onto the Blogger app the second I have my phone back online.
Consider yourself duly warned.
- A disgruntled writer
