April 20, 2004
Voice In My Head
[In a corner of her mind, enter Missiedith, a lazy-ass wannabe. She slouches down into the hideously drab floral print sofa, and practises her already perfected slacking about technique slightly to one corner. She tucks up her feet due to the disconcertingly pearl white teeth of the sofa-arm sensibly furthest from her. Yes, this sofa has teeth, and, it would appear, also a larynx.]
"So, dude, what's with all the ambiguous writing and stuff?"
"Um."
"You need to chill out, y'know? You probably just need some chocolate."
"Mmmmm... chocolate."
"What happened to anecdotal life stories? Social commentary? Media observances?"
"Can't we just carry on talking about chocolate?"
"Find some zen for a bit, stop reeling off the poncy portfolio style content and, like, do some actual blogging."
"I blog! I do! There's that series about the anthropomorphic personification of my blog going, if that's not normal blog content then I don't know what is."
"Dude, totally cracked, it in no way counts as normal."
"Shut up. If she doesn't count then you certainly don't."
"Whatever."
"I never really blogged about anything very specific anyway. You count stuff up and there's really not much of any one thing."
"Totally. Just keep telling yourself that."
"It's true!"
"Yeah, well, your feet smell."
"So do yours."
"I am with the total lacking of feet, bloghead."
"Bet they'd smell if you had some, though."
"Not as badly as yours."
"Completely not my fault, y'know? I've got this new housemate, and she broke the hot water pressure thingy by handwashing her laundry very loudly in the shower at 2 in the morning on the one night I was exhausted enough to go to bed early. So now the hot water's bust, and I had to wear a hat -"
"What kind of hat?"
"- ski-hat -"
"In April?"
"- yeah - and my suffering is not even marginally comparable with your suffering."
"I bet you looked damn funny in a ski-hat in April."
"It's the only hat I own, I hate hats."
"Awesome, you look stupid and funny in hats in general?"
"Yeah."
"Want some chocolate?"
"Yeah."
"Me too. Go buy some."
"I don't need to buy any, this is all a mental construct of my demented psyche."
"Well, mentally construct some then."
"Nah."
"Why the hell not?"
"Calories."
"F**k off, mental construct, remember?"
"Thought that counts."
"Oh."
"Bummer, huh?"
"Totally. Why don't you write a diet rant?"
"I'm in denial."
"You're a bit too good at that."
"I know."
"So what are you going to blog about?"
"Dunno."
"Not one of those I've-got-nothing-to-blog-about posts, please."
"Nah."
"They're boring as all hell to read."
"They're boring as all heaven to write."
"Heaven's more boring than hell?"
"I ever get the chance to compare the two, I'll let you know."
"Freak."
"I'm at least bipedal, you're a sofa with teeth."
"Damn straight I am, and don't forget the larynx."
"Larynx, right. How could I forget the larynx."
"You want to do that Get Away advert thing where you tell me to get lost and you fall flat on your overweight bum?"
"Not really. How often do you go to the dentist?"
"Mental construct, you keep forgetting that. I have microscopic colonies of teeth-cleaning fish."
"Oh. I really need to go to the dentist. And buy some chocolate."
