It sits in my ear, incessantly whispering its snipes and bemoaning my failures with utter, haughty glee.
I hate the little bugger.
And the little bugger hates me.
*slaps angrily at her left ear*
So, how’s your afternoon going?
I hope you have no creatures, prickly or otherwise, beating chants of doom into your ear drum. If you do, “Godspeed” to you on your way to the crazy house. I’ll save you a seat by the fire.
Assuming none of us have reached that point quite yet, let me fill you in on what I was able to get done despite the little freak kicking its boots against my earlobe. (Why I imagine Perfection wearing boots, I’m not sure. Perhaps they’re military boots?… Perhaps I should shut up and stop speculating on imaginary creatures’ outerwear? Yeah, we’ll go with that last one.)
My editing of Writhe today went amazingly fast despite… well, despite you know who. The Ticker from Madness stands at a robust…
3,000 words (making 15K in total done and ready to ship out)
Of course, I did avoid the troublemaking Chapter One like the plague. With gloves and a hospital mask on, I fondled it momentarily before running for the hills in terror. Admittedly, that was a coward’s act. But I’ve had little time to feel remorse for it with this beastly tic yelping straight into my brain.
All kidding aside, it is a real menace to people suffering with OCD or “simply” OCD tendencies. It nags and nags at you until whatever you do, no matter the beauty of the gold you manage to spin with your words, will never be enough. Your work is a failure. Then, by rights, you are a failure as well.
Sometimes I feel like I’m walking around with a big red “F” scratched into my forehead.
However, I force myself to battle through it. Most of the time these days, I even succeed… and if with success comes a left ear sore from a little fervent slapping, so be it.
Chloe and her speck of a heckler
P.S. I updated my homepage on my website (www.chloestowe.com). If you get a chance, please have a look. Thanks!