Lulu: Excuse me.
Lulu: I said, excuse me. We need to have a chat.
Me: Oh lordo, I’ve finally lost the plot. I’m having a conversation with a cat.
Lulu: We have matters of great import to discuss. Turn off that ridiculous program.
Me: But! Ghost Adventures! C’mon! These dudes are hilarious!
Lulu: I really need your undivided attention for once in your ridiculous life, biped food slave.
Me: Fine, I muted it. What, pray tell, do you want?
Lulu: I want to know if we’re done here.
Me: Done with what, Ghost Adventures? No, it’s a marathon. These chowderheads are on all day.
Lulu: I mean, are we done with the hysterics. I was looking through the blog archives on the iPhone, and woman? You’ve been a mess. Look what you put your readers through in the last week alone. This 30 Days of Torture thing you’re doing? What, praytell, is that going to do other than send you directly to the lunatic asylum at a faster rate than what you’re clocking now?
Me: It’s a good writing exercise. It will open me up to endless possibilities of creativity and self discovery.
Lulu: It’s driving you bonkers.
Me: It is. It’s driving me bonkers and we’re only on Day Four.
Lulu: You could quit.
Me: Nope. The MamaPop crew is doing it, and I’m stickin’ with it.
Lulu: Well how about the other stuff? The medication stuff? What’s going on with that, please, I’d like to know if you’re going away.
Me: Where would I be going?
Lulu: To the godforsaken bin, of course. It’s all you TALK about. “Blah blah, going to the bin, blah blah new medication blah.” You’re getting tiresome and repetitive in your subject matter.
Me: But I’ve been okay this week, I haven’t been talking about the bin at all- *claps hands over mouth*
Lulu: Oh, did I do that?
Me: You made me SAY IT.
Lulu: Moi? I did nothing. I was washing this kitten here.
Me: You made me say that I haven’t been blathering about the bin and now I’m doomed and will have a horrible night and I already had a horrible night on Wednesday and oh lordo here comes the doom.
Me: Maybe? Maybe the doom?
Lulu: That’s what you’re really thinking. MAYBE the doom will come. Maybe not.
Me: I am?
Lulu: *sagely* You are.
Me: I guess I am. I mean, if you’re telling me I am, and this is an imaginary conversation I’m having with my cat, it IS all going on in my brain to begin with, so I guess I AM telling myself maybe the doom.
Lulu: But maybe not.
Lulu: Perhaps not the doom? Perhaps the doom will stay away?
Me: Now, let’s be realistic. There’s always doom on the horizon. Paranoia might be locked in the broom closet but I can still hear her yelling. She’s just not sitting on my head right now.
Lulu: But maybe. Things will be less? Doomy?
Me: Maybe…for a little while. There might be…less…doom.
Lulu: I’ll take that.
Me: Who are you, my shrink?
Lulu: You need a full time caregiver, what do you think *I* am?
Me: You do nothing around here but wash kitten faces and sleep!
Lulu: I never said I was a very GOOD caregiver.
Lulu: You can go back to your ridiculous program now. I’m due for a nap.
Me: Well…Thanks for the talk! This has been a little enlightening!
Lulu: Don’t mention it.
Me: Aw, Lu. You’re such a softy.
Lulu: No, really. Don’t mention this conversation. Ever. To anyone. And DON’T put it on the internet.
Me: I wouldn’t dream of it.