I picked up “Writer’s Digest BootCamp” or something titled like that, so I’m writing short posts for 2 weeks or 14 days, however you like your cake cut.
Today I have to start like this,
“Dear Writer’s Block, it’s not you, it’s me.”
Actually it is you, but the other night when I said this, I was saying it to a boy, a very nice one, really. And I think I meant it, I meant that I’m slightly problematic in my thinking and my being, so it would be in his best interest to run fast. Run beloved run, for your sake and sanity! (it is all any of us have.) That is what I meant.
But back to me and you and why we’re breaking up. Don’t you hate break-up conversations? Oh my gosh, the worstest. The truth is that I don’t actually believe in myself, I don’t believe that my voice matters in this here world of random internet junk, I don’t believe I’m naturally funny or that my scribbles would make anyone smile. And you, you’re fueling my disbelief. So we’re done. Talk to the hand. Walk away. Everything you own is in a box to the left, the left, the left. Ya feel me?
We had our times, our selfies and whatnot. I’m sorry I led you on. I do that and I’m not proud but here I am, writing a whole post for you and being all genuine like I care or something. I don’t care to be blocked by you, WB. The juices have to flow. So before this starts sounding like a progress note written by a gastroenterologist, I’ll stop and let it be.
Mourn the loss, eat some cupcakes, do yo’ thang.
We. Are. Done.
No longer yours (and fabulous for it!),