I'm blocked. Can you tell?
Every time I think, "I'll blog about this. . ." my icy cold inner critic who has the voice of the White Witch from the "Narnia" movie says,
"Oh my darling, that is so cute, but do you really think anyone wants to read about that?"
Hmmm, okay. Well, what if I write about ___________
"Well you could, but I'm pretty sure that's a topic that has been written about by hundreds of other bloggers who said that same thing with better vocabulary, and a more cutting wit than you could muster my darling. Why don't you stick with something safe. Blog about your family. Talk about the season of life you're in and how things are changing for you. Keep it light and simple and for heaven's sake, don't blog about anything that might offend someone."
Her words paralyze me and I stare at the keys under my still fingers.
Then she goes for blood.
"It's so sweet how you think you are a writer. You just keep on trying dear. I'm sure you'll get there some day."And so . . . the blog's been empty. Until now.
I've convinced the Inner Critic that the view from the back seat is spectacular to get just a bit of distance. I know she's still around. I can feel her letting out exaggerated sighs behind my shoulder as I type right now. But I can't stand it anymore. I need to write. About something stupid, and cute and meaningless and silly - because I just need to get through the block. I need it to end because I need to write.
And so, I want to tell you about the Jamba Juice boy. Tonight after a particularly crappy day, I was looking for a way to treat myself. Just a glimmer of fun and frivolity in this crapfest of a day. A sweet and frosty beverage filled with calories but with the deceptive marketing of something that's "good for me". A well-marketed and mildly healthy Slurpee. The boy who made my drink couldn't have been more than a few months older than the minimum age for kids to get a job in this state. As he made my "Strawberry Something" drink, he looked up at me and said, "How's your day?" He looked just like the boy from the movie "Juno". And he looked at me like he really wanted to know. I almost cried as I said, "Good. It's good." Pauly Bleaker is making my Jamba, I thought. How cool is that? And suddenly, the crappy day took a turn for the better.
Excuse me. My inner critic is laughing her head off right now and I have to go beat the crap out of her.
