A Left Brain Plot to Kill a Right Brain Post

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Fear hangs out with the letters on my keyboard among the dust clusters and granola bar crumbs.

Actually, fear appears as a red herring, a fishy character that presumably kills off my blog post. But I know the real perpetrator, Perfectionism.

The Perfectionist evil doer hijacks my brain, duct tapes my arms to the chair, and shoves a Cashmere sock in my mouth.

Bound and gagged, I’m forced to stare at a white screen with a gray border, not boarder, although Gray never checks out, unlike my distant cousin Focus.

At least, I don’t have to make Gray breakfast or change the linens on the bed. How could I with my hands duct taped to a chair?

I just wish Gray and White weren’t on the same page. Gray darkens the psyche and White never shimmers like a high-gloss shine.

Whose idea was it anyway to align a shady squatter with a faded screen icon.

Both hold inspiration prisoner in a dark subterranean room, while Perfectionism rewrites the sentences.

“Keep your damn hands off my words,” I say telepathically.

Then add, “You won’t get away with this. You meddling bitch.”

And she didn’t.

Unbeknown to my restrained right brain, an anonymous tip from a desktop informant alerted the literary authorities of my inspiration’s incarceration.

The SWAT team arrived, smacked the evils doers with the taskbar then removed the duct tape from my arms.

I opened my eyes to a normal window view with an expanse of white space to the right.

Thanks a lot, SWAT.

You saved me from perimeter torture and gray and white page border blight.

The Irrational Fear of Blogging

I woke up today and remembered that I had a blog.

I’m slightly amnesic after a Google search algorithm sideswiped me while I was surfing Craigslist. I also might be HTML intolerant.

Pavlov

Pavlov (Photo credit: sclopit)

Lately, the word “blog” sounds more like “blahg” when it rolls off my tongue, as if a rotten pistachio nut left a bad taste in my mouth.

Maybe it has something to do with watching five minutes of the new Fear Factor, or motion sickness from the dizzying swings of the S&P.

Or maybe because I fell off a pile of bills and hit my head at the bottom of my bank account.

I’m also pretty sure that that derelict Fear regularly squats on my shoulder, plunging the northern region of my torso into freezing temperatures.

All those ideas I scribbled onto scraps of paper went MIA, lost somewhere on my desk, or in my mind, after a Wizard of Oz squall sent me back to Kansas in an invisible hot air balloon, as I clicked my heels together three times in an attempt to kill yellow brick road ants that infested my shoes.

And those 3,080 emails clogging up my inbox might be a problem, or perhaps my neurotic perfectionist tendencies that encourages me to save. I hope my compulsion lands me a show on the Discovery Channel about email hoarding.

Reading blogs used to release dopamine into my brain and send coffee spurting from my nose. Now it just elicits a swift kick to the gut and a panicked grip to the windpipe.

Damn shoulder squatter!

What’s the problem? I love interacting with virtually every species of avatar.

Maybe earthling matters have clouded my perception. Writing a memoir squeezes the creative juices from my brain.

I’m also exhausted working three days a week, as a part-time desk jockey, earning dog food pay.

Because I’m Pavlov’s human, my dogs torture me every day. They’re always barking up the wrong tree. You know, the one that fell without a sound when I wasn’t around the other two days.

Pavlov's Bell(Dreaming.....on the Starlight train)

Image by mRio via Flickr

It’s time to wake up and spurt the coffee.

I won’t let fear – of what I don’t know – keep me away from the blogosphere.

Maybe, I’ll Google cyber shrinks and then dive this time, thus avoiding the concussive effects of an errant algorithm wave.

 

Does Fear ever squat on your shoulder?

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