My Internal Has A Dialogue
Why It Is A Wonder I Ever Get Anything Done At All: Proceed With Caution
Left Brain of Miss Doxie: Holy shit, I can’t believe how long it’s been since I updated my site. I haven’t even written anything in there since, like…holy SHIT, on my BIRTHDAY. At this point I am practically thirty-one! I must do that! I must write something NOW NOW NOW.
Right Brain of Miss Doxie: Oh, hush, mister practical. You know you can’t force the creative process. Just calm down, and soon, we will hear the sweet song of the muse! She will give us our subject, and then she will take us by the hand, and lead us down a path lined with butterflies and ice cream cones.
Left Brain: …ooookay. Except we don’t have hands.
Right Brain: I am speaking figuratively, Left Brain. You need to think outside of the box.
Left Brain: Or, you know, I could ignore your irritating box-talk, and just write something already. Which is what I am going to do. I am putting it on my to-do list right now. Right under “Finish Legal Stuff,” but before "Laundry, plus spray dogs with something to make them smell less like dead squirrel parts."
Right Brain: But if you just write any old thing, then it will not be beautiful. We should not write now. I think we should sing a song, and then make potholders covered in unicorn glitter.
Left brain: Oh, for the love of GOD, woman, this is a blog. After all this time, it doesn’t need to be beautiful; it just needs to be “not blank.” That is really the only requirement for today: “Not blank.”
Right Brain: You know, when you say things like that, a fairy dies. She just falls down dead.
Left Brain: No fairies die…
Right Brain: FALLS DOWN DEAD SPLAT. Like that. Because of you.
Left Brain: Sigh. Oh, also, we should get some lunch. There’s a salad bar…
Right Brain: TWINKIES.
Left Brain: And, that sandwich shop downstairs has got some spec---
Right Brain: TWINKIES TWINKIES TWINKIES
Left Brain: JESUS CHRIST, FINE. We will HAVE TWINKIES for lunch.
Right Brain: (and potato chips.)
Left Brain: AND POTATO CHIPS. OKAY. THEN WE WORK.
Right Brain: Noooo, then we daydream.
Left Brain: We don’t have time to daydream. We have to write! Write write write.
Right Brain: Hey! Lefty! Did you see that thing on the news? About the Tyco guy throwing the party on the Greek Island?
Left Brain: Yeah, and he is currently in prison thanks to things like parties on that Greek Isle.
Right Brain: But, did you see the pictures? Where they served up all the male models on big platters, as if they were a buffet of glistening man-entrees? And I was all, “Men! On…plates!” and I have been sort of intrigued by the idea ever since. Why doesn’t anyone ever bring me a man on a plate? I’ve been good!
Left Brain: I…what in the world are you talking about?
Right Brain: Do you think Santa brings men on plates?
Left Brain: No. I don’t. Do I. And we have to write now. We should write about…
Right Brain: Men on plates, probably. And Santa.
Left Brain: NO. No, let’s write about how much work we’ve been doing since---
Right Brain: Oh, snore. We are not going to bitch and moan about our workload. That is so, so boring, plus you do that all the time.
Left Brain: Well, all you’ve come up with is “Men on Plates” and Twinkies and potato chips for lunch.
Right Brain: And Santa.
Left Brain: Yes. Exactly. Let us not forget Santa. You are making my point for me, and I thank you.
Right Brain: Hey, Stiffy! know what I really like? That song from the Neverending Story.
Left Brain: No, you don’t.
Right Brain: Oh, indeed I DO. And I shall start singing it right now, until you agree not to write about how busy you are.
Left Brain: Oh, please…please, don’t do that.
Right Brain: Close your eyes…tell me what you SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Left Brain: AIEEE
Right Brain: In…something…the something of your DREEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAMS…
Left Brain: JESUS HOLY CHRIST, will you PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP.
Right Brain: (humming).
Left Brain: Sweet, great. Awesome, now I’m singing it. WE HAVE THINGS TO DO.
Right Brain: No, you have things to do. I am going to come up with new names for Girl Scout Cookies.
Left Brain: Fantastic. Do it quietly.
Right Brain: …Mintsalongs.
Left Brain: ….?
Right Brain: Mintsalongs…Samoafoils.
Left Brain: Please. Oh, please, I beg you. I have so much to do…
Right Brain: Thinadoodle.
Left Brain: Right. Great, that’s it. I am getting nothing done, plus I have gotten nothing done all day, and I am a person with deadlines and lists…
Right Brain: Let’s write poetry about how boring you are.
Left Brain: Are you even LISTENING to me? LET’S WRITE A BRIEF.
Right Brain: Ooo! Let’s write a poem about how you live at the bottom of the ocean, but are still totally boring.
Left Brain: I’m not boring, I’m responsible! Someone has to be responsible!
Right Brain: Way down on the floor of the sea;
Covered with anemone;
Sat boring Left Brain,
Who’d loudly complain
That it had to complete subpart (b).
Left Brain: That’s not fair!
Right Brain: Left Brain was so horribly bland, that all of the fish moved to land…
Left Brain: Shut up! I’m not bland!
Right Brain: Snooooore. Oh, hey! Look at that: you talk, and I immediately fall asleep. That’s amazing how that happens, considering that you are so fascinating and all.
Left Brain: I wonder if it is possible to plan a stroke. To plan a stroke that only affects the RIGHT SIDE OF ONE’S BRAIN.
Right Brain: Oh, let’s not fight. Let’s cuddle.
Left Brain: I don’t WANT to cuddle. I WANT to write this brief, and then I WANT to update the website, and then I WANT to do laundry.
Right Brain: Or we could snoogle with the dogs.
Left Brain: …well, they do need snoogling.
Right Brain: And they are just sitting here, all smooshy.
Left Brain: They are smooshy. It is scientifically proven that they are smooshy. Okay, maybe a small break, for snoogling the smooshy.
Right Brain: That’s right, just…ew. Oh, ew. Dude, what’s that smell?
Left Brain: Oh, sweet Jesus. Look, it’s BITS OF DEAD SQUIRREL.
Right Brain: What?! Why do the dogs smell like bits of dead squirrel?
Left Brain: Because a squirrel DIED, and then it somehow ended up in our YARD, and then the dogs FOUND it, and then they ROLLED AROUND IN IT, and NOW THEY SMELL LIKE BITS OF DEAD SQUIRREL. But apparently, you MISSED all of that, because you were too busy drawing RAINBOWS and CENTAURS with the face of MORGAN FUCKING FREEMAN, THAT IS WHY.
Right Brain: Well, why didn’t you, like…clean them, or something?
Left Brain: Why didn’t…? LOOK. LOOK AT THIS LIST. Right there, under “Laundry”, it also says, “plus spray dogs with something to make them smell less like dead squirrel parts."
Right Brain: Well, you should really get to that, you know?
Left Brain: I HATE YOU.
Right Brain: Do not. I sparkle!
Left Brain: (sob.)
Right Brain: Oh, come on, now! Come on, what do you want to do? Do you want to write that brief? Will that make you happy?
Left Brain: No.
Right Brain: Do you want to draw some more pictures of Morgan Freeman as a centaur?
Left Brain: NO.
Right Brain: Okay, okay. Do you want to play solitaire?
Left Brain: I…sort of.
Right Brain: Well, okay! THERE WE GO, LITTLE CAMPER. You go play some solitaire, with all that logical, deductive reasoning of yours.
Left Brain: (sniff). Okay. What are you going to do?
Right Brain: Think about George Clooney on a really big plate.
Left Brain: Is that all?
Right Brain: Well, I’ll also update the website. Okay?
Left Brain: But…you? Nobody will ever come back! If you write it, they’ll see the innermost workings of Leigh’s brain, and they’ll all run away, screaming.
Right Brain: Oh, shush. It’s better than blank, right?
Left Brain: I mean…yeah. Okay, you’re right. Just…
Right Brain: Yes?
Left Brain: Promise not to mention the squirrel.
Hi, y’all! Look at how I am not gone! You are still stuck with me.
I need to tell y’all about this, which is a really awesome craft contest where you can win all sorts of prizes from eighty different stores; naturally, it ends in about two days and I am coming in at the tail end, but you know. Still crafty! Still good!
And finally, if you’re in Atlanta and want to buy very cool stuff tonight, the annual Tossed Out Treasures Preview Party is this evening, and it is where you can get lots of previously-owned neato things for not a lot of money. Plus also, you get wine. Wine and discount! And, charity, because the money all goes to the community, which is ever so nice. So check it out if you are so inclined; I think it’s $20 at the door, but usually that includes, like, food and drinks, so that is good. And if you see me, make sure you say hi to my right brain; the left side is staying the heck home.
(P.S.: Thanks to everyone who volunteered about the Thing with the Thing. I've got a bunch now, but thank y'all again!)
Quiet Dignity and Grace
Do you remember the exact moment you turned thirty? Like, the exact instant? Where you were? Who was with you? The precise thing that you were doing when the clock struck twelve, and your twenties were forever gone?
HEY YOU GUYS IT TURNS OUT I LOVE CHER SO SO MUCH
Me, either. But according to the above evidence, I seem to be bringing it on home.
And that is pretty much all I have to say about that. I am thirty! But I bet I am not mature yet.
Thank y'all for hanging out for another year! I appreciate all your comments, your emails, your support, and your general kick-ass-ness. You are all invited for cocktails, kisses, and spectacular Cher impersonations. Just don't mention false teeth or replacement hips, and make sure someone brings me some Tylenol.