Talking To Myself

-Let's try and do something good for ourselves tonight. I know that TV, drugs and whiskey are cool and all, but there is more to life than that.
-Yeah, maybe. But what are you going to do about it?
-Well, I have been trying to write something about it. Here, look...
-Ok, but if the first line is about TV, drugs and whiskey then obviously it's the inspiration and without it you would have nothing.
-But that's just it! What if I was living without this shit? Imagine what could be accomplished during a day. Imagine making love and actually feeling it!
-I feel it.
-Well, yeah, but-
-Listen. You can keep imagining all this shit, but without all this, you wouldn't even be real. This is your life right now, and there is no other, or at least no other that you are aware of. Let it go. This is why you have a failed career, failed relationships and own nothing. Because you can't fucking accept who you are in the present. Now--no, not a word, I'm not finished--do yourself a favor. Pour a glass, roll a joint, watch the television. Fuck wildly when she comes over and say things you don't mean.
-Like even that trash about anal sex and a vibrator?
-Absolutely. We can say it over and over again, and we will pretend that we have harmony and that all the things we do in the dark bring you happiness. Then, I assure you, we will have cast enough worry, doubt and illusion into the rill of goodness that you still hold onto to write whatever it is you want to write.
-I hate it when you're right.
-And I hate it when you write.