This is the follow-up to my previous article about how HottieMcSpanky wouldn’t schtupp me.

And the haters still think I’m the “Korean Snooki”

Is it wrong that I’m thoroughly amused?

Yesterday, I had a kumbaya conversation with myself (with the help of Jacob Kreuger).

And now, I’m ready to smoke a peace pipe with the wacky monsters inside. This letter is dedicated to those little fuckers. <— I say this with utmost affection.
I say this with utmost affection.

Dear Writer’s Block…

Before I start, I’d first like to say: you’re welcome in my body.

Don’t think I’m pulling a switch-and-bait of first being nice and then slitting your throat just as you’re starting to let your guard down.

No, why would I slit my own throat?

Yea, that’s right.
You’re me.
You’re me.

Oops…I Hosed off the Stardust from the Fairytale

Writer’s block….You’re the mini-me, the Gothic Lolita who whispers stories into my brain all day and night. Your siren song made me a little loco – I stalked you, kidnapped you from Oz, and set you to work in a Kansas literary sweatshop.

I set a whip to your back. “KEEP WRITING, SLAVE!”
And the atomic red of your blood turned drab and gray. Your fingers shriveled.

I’m sorry I starved and exploited you.
I’m sorry I starved and exploited you.

Oops…I was a “Wanna-be” Mean Girl

Writer’s block…You’re the “Now is the time on Sprockets vhen ve dance” uber-artiste who I wanted sooooo badly to be my BFF.

I went to you, clutching the pages that lil Goth wrote. I passed them off as mine, hoping to be able to touch your monkey.

Ye gads, I was the ultimate cannibal, trying to eat and digest your identity.

You’d shoo me away, and put up a bigger and more pretentious and more critical wall.

And I’d throw the story back in lil Goth’s face: “Ms. Artiste thinks you SUCK”…

…I’m sorry I made you the bad guy.
I’m sorry I made you the bad guy

O Captain, My Captain

I’m supposed to be the captain of this ship.
The chairman of the board.
The goddamn leader.

But that requires that I be an A-D-U-L-T. And I don’t know how to be an adult.

I don’t have any real role models. For all this blabbering about how women are so strong…it seems to me that every woman I know if just as clueless as I am.

Yea, I’m not exactly sure how to be the captain. But I sure as fuck wanna learn.
But I sure as fuck wanna learn.

Freedom isn’t Quite So Free

Lil Goth – I’m afraid to set you free, to send you back to the Emerald City. Without your stories, I feel as if I’m a nothing and nobody. I’ve been a horrible stage mom.

Ms. Artiste – I’m afraid to put you in your place because I feel so…mediocre…without your approval. I’ve been a pathetic poseur and follower.

But, I really need to get my own life. Stop using writing as my only measure of worth.
worth.

Practice Makes Perfect

I now see that Writer’s Block is the Lenin to my Romanov ridiculousness. I was a non-leader and you guys were ripe for a revolution.

I accept you, Writer’s Block.
You’re welcome in my body.
I need you to be the checks-and-balances of this democracy.

I’ll practice at being a better captain. It’s gonna take time, and I’m gonna fuck up a lot in the beginning. Old thought patterns will rear its head and make everyone doubt if I have the chops.

But I promise that eventualy, I’ll stop being such an asshole.