I Have Tiny People In My Brain And They’re All On Strike

Me: TIME TO WRITE!

The Writing Muse: What?

Me: It’s time to write. Typey fingers, get ready to go to work!

TWM: Um, excuse me. I don’t have that memo.

Me: We’re gonna be impulsive! Creative! Off the cuff! This is going to be great.

TWM: Not without me, you’re not.

Me: What?

TWM: I don’t work on Sundays. It’s the LORD’S day, you know.

Me: I’m agnostic.

TWM: Also, no one reads blogs on Sunday. I’m off duty, sister.

Me: Nonsense. We got a lovely comment today on Twitter. People TOTALLY read blogs on Sunday.

TWM: Not me.

Me: You do know if we keep bickering like this, we’ll eventually find a topic.

TWM: I can’t hear you. I’m watching “Bizarre Foods” and *I* wrote a MEMO unlike YOU ever do to our appetite center. He’s watching too, and he says he’s totally off duty as well.

Appetite Center: It’s true. This guy is totally out of his mind. He purposely eats disgusting things and pretends he likes it. This guy is like my own personal anti-christ.

Me: I TOLD you I’m AGNOSTIC.

AC: You’re also gonna look at your dinner tonight and get dry heaves. You’re welcome.

Me: So let me get this straight. All y’all who live in my head are on strike or something today? I can’t write and I can’t eat? This is an outrage. Is there ANYONE up there in my cranium that’s willing to help me out here?

Anxiety: WE’RE HERE AND WE THINK YOU SHOULD PANIC ABOUT WHAT WE JUST READ ON THE INTERNET.

Me: I don’t want to know. You can feel free to take the day off. You’ve put in a lot of extra hours lately. Please. Get a cold beverage and chill the hell out.

Anxiety: BUT WE’RE ALL DOOMED!

Me: You’re not allowed on the internet anymore.

The Writing Muse: Hey. Heeeeeeeeeeeeey. Wait just a minute. You’re cheating.

Me: How on earth am I cheating? I’m in a labor dispute with my own brain!

TWM: And you’re writing it down! This is MY job. You…You RAT. You SCABBER! I’m calling my union representative.

Me: Please don’t do that. I do not want to be fitted with concrete shoes and pushed into the river.

TWM: You’re still typing!

Me: Try and stop me. I’m on a roll here without you.

TWM: I’m getting Depression out from under the couch and telling her to get her ass in gear and make you stare at the wall for hours in complete misery again.

Me: Nope, she was so overworked yesterday that she took extra Trazedone and is sound asleep, thank LORDO.

TWM: I thought you were agnostic.

Me: You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be on strike.

TWM: I hate you.

Appetite Center: He just ate a dogfish’s entire uterus, including the fish-fetus. We’re never eating again.

Me: Fish lay eggs.

AC: Did you not hear the part when he ATE THE UTERUS?!?

Me: Semantics.

Anxiety: WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING TO ME? WE’RE DOOMED! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!

Me: *happy sigh* And THAT’S how you write 500 words without any help from all the tiny people who live in your head. Happy Sunday, everybody!

(special thanks go to Twitterer @arthuromeo for the motivation to write this. Cheers, man!!!)


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