Thursday, June 13, 2013

DiaMonologue


DiaMonologue
By Mary-Kate Nienhuis & her Hypercritical Self


Why do I need to write? I feel like I’m a writer.

But you don’t write anything, so therefore, you are not a writer.

But I have. And it’s been good.

What your mom says about your stupid little poems and wanna-be epics that you wrote when you were eight does not count.

Yeah. I’m not really talking about that stuff.  Since then--I’ve written things.  And I think they were okay.

Well, you’re not now.

I know.

Why not? 

I don’t know.  Reilly’s coming home.  There’s laundry in the dryer, a stack of papers waiting at school.  I need to clean the upstairs bathroom and the guinea pig cage, and then go get the mail so I can pay bills.

Excuses, excuses.  You’re not doing any of that either.

I know……………I’m afraid. 

You should be.  I’ve seen your upstairs bathroom.

Not of cleaning the bathroom. 

Afraid of what?

Afraid that I’m not really a writer.

Anyone who writes anything is a writer, dipshit.

Yeah I know.  But I don’t want to be a bad writer, I want to be a good writer.

Well what does that mean?

I don’t know, people will want to read what I write, I guess.

Well, why would they?

That’s my point.

But then again, why wouldn’t they?

I don’t know.  Maybe I’m just afraid of what will come out?!  What if I embarrass or scandalize myself?

So what?  You do that every Friday night at the Bar 100.

Well…now I think you’re exaggerating.   Wasn’t it Norman Maclean who said that drinking beer in Montana doesn’t count as drinkingAnd besides, there’s only like, two and a half grams of carbs in this.

Whatever makes you feel better.

WHAT?  DAMN!  Are you writing a friggin book?

No—but you’re the one who thinks they ought to be.

Shut up!

Oooh...Good one!

I don’t know.   I just can’t seem to sit down and make myself do it.  I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.  Dr. Bolton said I should write a monologue.  Maybe this could be one.

I don’t think this qualifies as a monologue

Why not?

Well, because a monologue is one person talking, moron.  Aren’t you supposed to know these things, “teach?”

Yeah, but technically, you’re me and I’m you, and it’s all inside my own head.

Yeah, but it’s still a conversation—So really, it’s a dialogue.

With myself.

Yeah. I think this is where professionals usually step in. 

What?

Well, listen to yourself!

I am!!!! That’s you! I’m even writing it all down!!!!!

Exactly.  The next thing you know they’ll be finding someone’s body chopped up in your freezer and you’ll be blaming me.

That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.  You know I’m not a violent person.  And besides, I don’t even have a chest freezer—just the little one on top of the fridge--and it’s full of pork chops, freezy pops and taquitos….how would I fit anything else in there? Although I HAVE been thinking about buying one so I’d have some room for some meat.

SEE!  It’s all part of your subconscious plan. 

It’s snot--- no wait--it’s not SNOT--typo, sorry.

Have another one, lush.

Shut up!  What I meant to say is that it’s not SUBconscious if I’m thinking about it, which I obviously am.  Who’s the dipshit?

Oh, right.  So you admit to premeditation. You’re just digging yourself in deeper and deeper.  That’s at least another 10 years on your sentence.

Can we save the speculation about my sentence for the hypothetical homicide I might commit until after I’ve said what I had to say?

Sorry, my bad……

…………………

I’m waiting…..

I know, I forgot where I was.  Oh. yeah, now I remember.  This is what I was talking about.  I can’t be putting stuff like this down on paper.  People will think I’m unbalanced—crazy!

Well I think it might be too late for that.

Shut up!

Is that your only comeback?  Just face it.  YOU CAN’T WRITE!………
………
………

I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it. It’s just that I know you.  The only thing that seems to light a fire under your ass is when someone tells you that you can’t do something.  I was just trying it out.  I think you should write.  You know you want to.  You can.  I was only trying to help.

Thanks….
……………..

What should I write about?

I don’t know.

I’m hungry. 

That’s definitely something that nobody cares about.

I thought you did.  I’m going to go get a taquito.

Good plan.  They’re behind the severed fingers. 

Smartass.


Always.

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