Hey! So, you gonna write something new today?
Uh, yeah. Trying to but the words don’t wanna come out.
What’s it gonna be about?
This thing I thought about.
Duh. Like, srsly what’s it gonna be about?
I was thinking of how we cope with…
(interrupting) Death? Oh, I so love it!
No, I meant how we cope with…
(interrupting) Loss? Oh, I’ll tweet all about it!
(awkward silence) So…
Where is it?
The story? When’re you posting it? Oh, I bet it’ll fetch a gazillion comments.
Hmm… I don’t know. It’s stuck in there.
Can I see it?
Sure. (opens brain, comes closer to webcam)
Oh… it doesn’t look that nice.
Yeah, I feel like I’ve seen that before. Like in a movie or something.
You did? (sounds confused) I’m sorry.
Doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna love it.
ʎonqʎʇıɔ is offline.
ʎonqʎʇıɔ is online.
Hey, where’d you go?
Sorry, I got a glass of water.
Is it cold? Like the night that doesn’t want to forget?
My throat’s soar.
You mean it’s sore.
Yeah. That’s what I said.
Like the pain in the middle of your chest? The void you can’t seem to explain?
No. Like I’ve had too many cigarettes and not enough water.
Oh. Okay. (uneasy) So, where’s the story? How does it start?
A woman is dancing. She’s wearing old clothes. I think she’s…
(interrupting) reliving her past? Escaping from the terror of an abusive husband? I LOVE IT! POST IT RIGHT NOWWW!!!
No, not exactly. And I can’t.
Because I don’t know how it ends.
Just say something clever like She could wear the old clothes but it would never be like it was before. He had broken her far beyond repair. I LOVE IT!@
So, where is it?
I can’t write it.
Because I hate it.
Because no one will read it. Because it’s not new. It doesn’t sound like me. It doesn’t have the littlest part of me.
And that would be strange because? All your posts in the last two years have been like that.
When was the last time you wrote something because you wanted to? When did you become such an attention whore?
I’m not gonna even dignify that with a…
(interrupting) It’s almost like you spin one of those roletas on TV. What’s it gonna be today, citybuoy? (mocking) What’re you going to write about? Love? Sorrow? Work shit? Family issues? Money issues? Blogging issues? If you think about it, you have more issues than The Inquirer.
You know it’s true.
I mean, what’s the point? Why do you even try so hard to write when no one’s even gonna remember it?
That’s not true. I’m sure they’ll remember it.
I bet it’ll only take five minutes before they’ve forgotten all about that story you worked so hard on. Five minutes.
That can’t be true. They say they love it. They say they can relate.
They say that all the time. You say that all the frigging time. You’re not changing any lives with your work, citybuoy. Don’t take yourself too seriously.
(silence) So, what do you want me to do?
You remember that picture I took of you?
The one where I had a wig on?
Yeah. That one. Post it.
I can’t. I look terrible in that shot. Like a na’vi in grayscale.
Post it. I’ll bet you they won’t even read the post. They’ll just comment on the picture.
But I can’t post that picture. That was just for us. It was a joke.
Don’t explain. Just do it.
Fine. (sulking) Let me look for it. (…) Okay, got it. Now what?
U Hate It
When was the last time you wrote something that was just for you?