5 Minutes Inside My Head

Ack. The writing deadline is tomorrow. My tummy hurts. I have such a case of writer's block, you wouldn't believe. I just spent 15 minutes searching the Internet for pictures of Suri Cruise. There aren't any. Because she doesn't exist. I've written 2 pieces. I need one more. I have nothing. NOTHING! Maybe I'll just submit these 2. They're ok. Not as ok as they could be. I understand submission guidelines and the need to limit words but 100? Are you kidding me? 100 words is like, well, I'm pretty sure this is already close to 100 words. Cut and paste into Word. Yep. 98. Well, now it's even more than that. And of course one doesn't want to drone on and on. Say what you mean and be done with it. I repeat myself and use "I" too much anyway. Which iconic life-changing teacher was it that warned about the perils of "I"? BJ? Don't remember. But ever since she said that (or he did, it might have been Mr. Yoder) I always comb through my drafts to remove extraneous "I"s. Like nits. Geez, sooooo thankful The Child hasn't yet come home with lice. That would so gross me out. Not so much the hair thing but the whole having to wash everything we own in hot water and putting all the pillows and stuffed animals into plastic bags for 2 weeks. What a pain in the arse. Not unlike trying to reduce essential truths about motherhood into 100 word fragments that make any sense at all. The coffee is gone. Can't make another pot. I promised The Child we'd play school at 10 and then go out for burgers and malts so I gotta write. I hate deadlines. I love them, because without them I'd never get anything written but I hate them. They start out so far away. All the time in the world. Surely I'll come up with half a dozen gems in a month, in 3 weeks, in a week. Ack! It's tomorrow. I've got 2 bits and neither are gems. Not even cubic zirconium. Did I spell that right? And why haven't we seen baby Suri? I repeat: because she DOESN'T EXIST!!!! I saw Angelina Jolie's lips on TV last night. I turned the channel real quick. I so don't like her. Big fake. Geez my desk is cluttered. Like my head. Cluttered with the claufouti I didn't make last night and the need to find concise words to talk about motherhood. Ack.