"So you’re just gonna write something?"
"Yeah, that’s pretty much the plan."
"Anything at all? Just some story? A poem?"
"I don’t know. Something."
"You know it’s not going to be very good right?"
"Sure. But I’m weeks past my deadline anyway, and I don’t really give a damn."
"Oh you give a damn. But you figure no one’ll notice a couple weeks of shitty writing if you can come up with something really cool later. So you’ll just write something lame for now, something light, something pastel or watercolory, a washed out bit of creative crap, and hope for inspiration later."
"Dude, you just said ‘pastel’ because it’s the word for this week."
"And you just wrote a string of internal monologue that pretty much defines you as a shitty writer on a blog filled with incredibly creative and talented people."
"You know I’m not gonna post this now right? You had to go say all that and now I’m not gonna post it."
"Oh but you will, because it’s just late enough that you don’t care, and you know you won’t have time to write something different (we’ll just leave better out of the equation) and you know that maybe someone will at the very least find this amusing. You know you could just write something really incendiary if all you want is a response."
"I’m not even talking to you anymore. You’re the most worthless internal voice ever. Also you have bad breath."
"I’m just the only voice you have to talk to when it’s late at night. Too bad."
"It’s too bad I already know next week’s post won’t be any better."
"Oh yeah? How do you know?"
"…you know everything I know. We know the same things."
"It’s for the audience’s benefit."
"Oh please. Quit being dramatic. We don’t have an audience."
"Oh ho, now we’re ‘we’ are we? Getting all royal plural on us eh?"
"I feel like you’re missing the point."
"Next week’s post will be as bad as this one because you’re writing them at the same time?"