So Journalcon is like four minutes away and I’m having my standard pre-trip panic attack, right on schedule. My Weetamix swag is in various levels of completion. I don’t know what I’m going to wear. My dry cleaning won’t be ready until Thursday night. I have to stop and buy liquor for my hotel room (party at Chez Bix, booyah!). Places to go, things to do, debauchery to plan, busy busy busy.
What is more, I officially have to write 10 pages of a story for next Tuesday. And that, my friends, is like pulling teeth for some reason. I have this idea, two ideas actually, but I don’t even want to start writing it down because it will somehow put boundaries on my ideas and make it all ordinary. That’s the only way I can describe it. Writers are so dumb sometimes, I know. But I have no idea when I’m going to write this thing, because every minute between now and then will be taken up with many things that relate to writing, in a way, but actually involve very little writing. It’s all a mixed blessing. I guess I know what I’ll be doing on the plane.
Speaking of nothing in particular, you know this thing with Roy (as in Siegfried And) getting mauled by Montecore? And Barry Manilow breaking his nose? And also John Ritter dying? It’s almost like the universe is making editorial comments about mediocrity.
I don’t know about you, but if I were CarrotTop, I would be pretty damned jumpy.
Scene: 9:30 pm. Weetabix has just come home from class and is eating dinner while Esteban works on his pc and watches the Cub’s baseball game.
Weetabix : How was your day today?
Esteban : Miserable…
Weetabix : Miserable? What happened?
Esteban : Nothing… just too much to do and not enough time to do it. Same old, same old. I feel very out of sorts today.
Weetabix : Did you take your medicine? Did you eat today and drink enough water?
Esteban : Yes, yes and yes. Maybe I’m just getting ready to miss you this weekend.
Weetabix :(all afluster) You’ll be fine. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.
Esteban : Aw, come on, admit it, that was charming as hell.
Weetabix : It was. I’m surprised my pants are still on, because you almost charmed them off me.
Esteban : Damn. How was your class?
Weetabix : It was good, except I was way tired because I haven’t been getting enough sleep. Last night, you were crazy.
Esteban : I didn’t get to sleep until 4 am… sorry about that. Was I tossing and turning a lot and keeping you up?
Weetabix :Between you and Tilly… man.
Esteban : I know… I remember she was attacking the bed like a freakazoid.
Weetabix :You didn’t feed her before you came to bed, so she was active all night because she was hungry. And then you… you woke me up to tell me about it?
Esteban :I did no such thing.
Weetabix :Yes, you did. You said “Weet… weet… the cat attacked the bed…. she just came up here and punched me in the butt and then ran away!”
Esteban : I remember none of this.
Weetabix :It was like you suddenly were channeling Ralph Wiggum. I expected you to add “And her breath smells like cat food.”
Esteban : She did punch me in the butt. I don’t know what was up with that.
Weetabix :I think it was cat speak for “Hey asshole, feed me.” I’m afraid that I’ll drop dead in this house and the cat will eat my face off.
Esteban : I don’t know why we put up with her.
Weetabix : I think she’s wondering why she puts up with us.
Esteban : Did you have a good class tonight?
Weetabix : We were supposed to write something fresh and I didn’t… I used the first page from my “Flea Flicker” story because it was in first person and fit the assignment.
Esteban : So… you cheated.
Weetabix : I didn’t cheat! Why does everyone say that?! I just didn’t write something usable last week. Also, I kind of resent some of the writing prompts. I don’t have a problem thinking of things to write about and I don’t want to waste time writing things when I’ve got about three story ideas I can’t get to. The quality of writing in the class is getting better though. Although one guy read his own work and did the whole “spoken word” thing that I can’t stand.
Esteban : For example.
Weetabix : Well, remember when we went to Artstreet and saw Mark Turcotte read? The way he reads, that’s a legitimate way of reading a poem… very performance arty and using the rythyms of language to build in your voice. It works well with poetry, but with fiction, you just have to be more subtle than that. You can’t sound like Martha Stewart, with the emphasis on the wrong words. I swear, he had a sentence like “my father and I went down to the river”, only it was stilted and more like “my father and I went DOWN to the Ri…ver.” I felt like snapping my fingers after he was finished. I think I’m the only person who finds that ridiculously pretentious though. To everyone else, it probably sounded like strong writing, but if you need to be there using your mouth to say “look Mom, I sure am writing now!” then your prose probably isn’t as good as you think it is.
Esteban : See, that’s why I will never be a fiction writer. I would just be like… um, yeah, mister writer person. Oh, that reminds me, did you post my thank you to your readers?
Weetabix : No, not yet.
Esteban : WEETABIX! Now they’re going to think I’m an asshole because I didn’t respond to them! Oh man! I can’t believe you didn’t post it! You said you were going to post it.
Weetabix : I’m sorry, I was very busy today and then when I got home, Disco had hijacked my site, so I didn’t update. He talked about my nipples.
Esteban : You know, some of the emails I got talked about your boobs too.
Weetabix : Well, they are something to talk about.
Esteban :That they are.
Weetabix : My boobs should have a show in Vegas.
Esteban : Or Branson.
Weetabix : Nah, the Geritol sect could not handle the wonder that is my boobs… which, by the way, are shrinking, in a disturbing turn of events. (looks down at the little cup of pudding she is eating) GAHG!
Esteban : What?
Weetabix : This pudding? Expired over a month ago.
Esteban : Ooof. Does it still taste ok?
Weetabix : I think it tasted…. smokey.
Esteban : Smokey pudding?
Weetabix :Yeah…. needless to say I won’t be finishing it.
Esteban : Ah yes, the smokey mold. That’s karma because you didn’t post my thank you and now all of those people think I’m an asshole.
Weetabix : You’re not an asshole. You’re Mayor McNice of Awesomeville.
Esteban :You have to tell them that you’re the asshole who didn’t post it.
Weetabix : It’s not that big of a deal. You have this overinflated sense of righteousness.
Esteban : Weetabix!
Weetabix : Ok, ok, I’ll post your thank you in the morning.
Esteban : And write that you’re the asshole. Post that so they know that it wasn’t me being a jerk and not responding to them directly.
Weetabix : Yup, I’m the asshole.
Esteban : And you’re going to make it up to me by giving me oral pleasure. Post that too.
Weetabix : See, you say you’re not a fiction writer….
Dear Weetabix Readers,
Thank you all so much for all of your birthday wishes. I had planned on writing each of you back with a thank you, but when the number of well-wishers topped over a 100 I kind of gave up on that idea and asked Weet if she would post my thank you on her diary for me.
Your e-cards and messages really made my day. Thank you all so much. I will thank Weet in a much more personal manner later.
Esteban
What the heck did you guys tell him???
P.S. I’m an asshole.
