Me to my nagging, whiny, probably Jewish subconscious:
Look at ME!
I’m finally writing something.
Ya happy now? Ya gonna stop hounding me and taking over my every thought, reminding me of what a failure and waste of talent I’ll wind up being if I don’t write something RIGHT now?
Can I get a break from you if I produce a blog post, even if it’s pointless, sick-in-the-head blather?
If I write something tonight will you stop reminding me that one day I’ll be 93 and in a nursing home, crying into my Depends because I didn’t push my writing career harder?”
“There. I wrote something. That’s a whole paragraph. Now leave me the %@%$ alone so I can go back to playing Presidents vs. Aliens on my phone. Maybe one day I’ll be famous for THAT.”
Sorry, that’s all I’ve got tonight, but I did just earn Millard Fillmore and invincibility. Woohoo.