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| I really would have preferred a turtle. |
Before you call in your friendly neighborhood pest control guy or
before you start gathering hamster nibbles (depending on your general
acceptance of domesticated furry rodents into your home sweet home), let me
assure you that this little critter isn’t real.
No actual rattiness here, my friends.
The hamster (as section 3C of the blog audience and a spattering of
intuitive folks in the balcony already suspect) is actually me… my brain… well,
the back, not really subconscious part, of my brain that runs constantly,
manically, like, you guessed it, a hamster in its little wheel.
Whew! That was a lot of hard work just to get to the point that I’m
mentally pooped.
Conscious part of the brain is going A-OK, but the hamster-part is
about to pull a hammy (that would be a hamstring to the sports-injury naïve).
“Why aren’t you writing?”
“You need to be working.”
“You’re never, ever going to
become financially independent if you don’t work.*
“You say you’re not a leach, but
you are a leach.”
“You’re a lazy, lazy,
money-sucking leach all bloated on your family’s successes*
“You need to be plucked off of
their skin and fed to the lame hamster you keep whining about…*
And there you have it. My little rodent at work.
Again, remember I am a writer and prone to creative license. I’m also
already under a psychiatrist’s care, so no worries there.
A long time ago and many times since I’ve promised you full disclosure
into my writing process…
Well, there you go.
Courtesy of one hamster.
Think I can get that hamster nibble now?
*lol*
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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