and some links
Allison was just talking about how she’s found comfort in writing lists. I’ve been doing it for a long time now. I find it’s the only way that I can realize just how many things I need to do. There are always things on my list I’ll never get around to, but knowing that I’m thinking of them makes me feel like I’m working on them, even if it just means they’re bumping around inside my head. I work best with a deadline, and often I find I can’t quite write anything until I have a due date. This way things stay in my head and I work on them and then right before they’re due, right before I couldn’t possibly wait another moment, I crank out the work and it’s just how I wanted it. But for some reason I can’t write a minute sooner than that or I hate it. Sometimes if I start too early I’ll end up not finishing it. It’s terrible and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve been writing for three hours straight now because I have that much work to catch up on. And there’s even more work behind it. Because I’m now at the point where I can’t think of all of the work I need to do, I had to stop and write a list.
The only problem is that my list tends to talk to me and make me worry about things.
Hi, I’m your webpage. You need to figure out what your contract’s going to be for the next year. You know, if it’s not all worked out you can’t keep writing this webpage. It costs money you know. And the forum is jam packed and you’re having to delete old threads every other day or so because you’re almost at your disk space limit. It’s time to figure out what you want to do with me. Did you know that it’s my three-year anniversary on Saturday? It is. You didn’t even give me a birthday week like you did the first two years. You don’t love me like you used to. That’s so sad to me. I’ve given you good times and given you great friends. Sure, sometimes it’s hard. All good relationships are. Update me. Make sure Buffalo Bill updates. You need to stay on it. You need to make sure you get all of that contract stuff out of the way. You need to make more money.
Yeah, I’ll take it from here, webpage. Hi. It’s the bank. Just letting you know that you shouldn’t be bopping around thinking you’re gonna have a great summer. We need cash, girl. Write something sellable. Finish all the shit you started. You spent three hours the other day making a fake wish list for a fake serial killer. Is this what you want to do with your life? Is it? Man.
‘ello, Pamie. Tis I: Harry Potter. You’ve seem to abandoned me right at the very end of our first journey. Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen with my friends? Don’t you care about Gryffindore… or my head scar? I thought we had a wonderfully smashing time that afternoon you spent reading me in the sun. Didn’t you love it? There’s only ten pages or so left, Pamie. You can do it!
It’s not like she’s going to get around to me, the giant stack of print-outs of past recaps she needs to read so she can crank out her summer work. I mean, I represent money. Sure, she’s put some time into lovingly cutting and pasting the words on this page and then she hit the “print” button. But it’s not like she’s read a single page. She’s all, “I’ll read it this weekend.”
I’m the CD she’s never sent to blurboy from the Mix CD exchange VERSION TWO. They’re on like, six now. She’s that lazy and dumb. Blurboy has stopped even thinking that she could possibly be cool. This CD is now filled with oldies.
Hi. I’m your weekly column for the Austin-American Statesman. Remember your nice boss, Omar? Yeah. You know how he’s getting his eyes sliced today? You think you could turn in an article or two on time so he can read them without ripping his eye stitches? You lazy, inconsiderate waste of a girl, you. That guy in Austin who sent you that email was right. You are pale and scary and should go to Hippie Hollow with him. You just sit there thinking, “Poor Omar” and then you immediately think, “I wonder if I still have a Strawberry cereal bar in the house.” You disgust me. Come visit, though. Austin misses you.
Hi, I’m the baby that your friend’s going to have today. Do you feel bad for naming me JuJuBi yet? I’m going to hate you for it in ten years. That’s the worst nickname ever. Ever! I’m a helpless baby, you heartless child. You think you could call and find out if we’re all okay? I’m a baby. I’m important. You’ve never had a friend have a baby before. It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it? I mean, just a few months ago we were all dancing around drunk, talking about wine slushies. Now I’m going to call her, “Mom.” How are your ovaries doing? You still thinking about being single and kidless? Tick-tock, that’s all.
You shut up, Baby. I need her to come and pick me up today. Hey, pamie. It’s me, The Pill. Don’t forget you need to pick me up today. Today. That’s not tomorrow. No time tomorrow. Tomorrow is all laundry, all day. Remember to pick up water and Diet Coke when you come and get me. And maybe some juice? And Pirate Booty. Everyone loves that stuff and I’m next door to the only Trader Joe’s you know. Can you try and not pick up unnecessary hair products at the cheap store next door? Thanks.
Hey! Cal and Taylor will appreciate you remembering to pick up me– Advantage! You called it in yesterday! Time to go and get me!
I’m just wondering if you’re going to remember to set me, TiVo, to tape this week’s Making the Band. And that’s TWO episodes. Not one. Two. And, uh, good job getting that first recap in before the show is cancelled.
Hi. I’m email. Wow, are you ever behind.
Hello, I’m amazon.com. I’ve tried to deliver a package for about three days now. Why are you never home when we knock on your side door? We’re just going to send the package back to whence it came from. I like saying the word “whence.”
Call your mother.
We’re kitty litter. We smell like poo!
Running low on me, cat food, here.
Aren’t you thirsty? You haven’t had time to have a hit with me in the corner. I’m coffee! Watch what happens if you don’t drink me: upi md i[ wprighing otj upir ajnmds pnm thjw pml glesu/ . isn’t that sad? You’ll end up writing entire paragraphs with your hands on the wrong keys. Come and get some of this, baby. Latte, Youte.
I am The Book. TICK. TOCK.
I am the Spec Script Idea. Good thing you moved to Hollywood, kid, so you could see other people do what you want to do while you sit around making lists and writing stupid stories about your kitty litter talking to you. Thanks for using that fucking college education you’re paying off each and every month. Good job on that one, there. Why don’t you use that car you’re paying off to raise kittens in? Makes about as much sense.
I am underwear. You’re gonna have to go commando in about three days if you don’t do something. Nice ratty seventh-grade panties there, girl. Real classy. That’s an ass that’s cared for, right there.
I HAVEN’T BEEN FED AND I FORGOT TO TOUCH LINT SOCK CHEESE MEAT! HEY HI! I BITE YOU! HI!
If you ever remember to get around to me, I’m the bed. Sometimes, when you remember, you sleep in me. Sleep. That’s where you close your eyes and you go off to the dream land where you have a different list of things to do, but usually it involves naked celebrities and jam. Try and find some time for me, okay?
I’m off to silence a few voices in my head.