My Dear Friend Stress

Lately I’ve been having repeat visits from my dear friend, stress. We go a long way back, stress and me. We began to be real close during high school, and to this day, he makes sure to pop in and check up on me every couple of days.

Some people know how to listen, but stress usually does most of the talking when he’s around. The guy just loves to talk.

Stress: Hey! How are you doing? I really shouldn’t be asking you that, what with your high cholesterol, but you know me, ha ha, right?

Me: Hey stress, now is really not such a good time…

Stress: Hey, is that a self published authors forum? Cool! Did you see that thread? This guy published over a 100 titles! Did you see that thread? This guy says that if you can’t produce a lot of content, you better do something else with your time! Did you see that thread? This woman can write seven thousand words in one hour.  Seven thousand! How many words do you write in an hour?

Me: About eight hundred, but it’s the quality that cou…

Stress: Sure, sure. Quality. It always worked for you before, right? So how much “quality” did you produce this week?

Me: Why do you say quality like that?

Stress: What do you mean?

Me: You say it sarcastically. Like “quality”.

Stress: No I don’t.

Me: Say quality.

Stress: “quality”.

Me: See?

Stress: yeah, yeah. So? How much?

Me: I’m really just working on publishing the book I have written right now, and…

Stress: Uh huh. How’s that been going? It’s tough, right? Hard to find the time. I mean, you start working at around ten…

Me: Nine.

Stress: Sure, sure. Let’s say ten thirty. Then by twelve you can’t work, too hungry. Lunch break always takes two hours with you, who knows why, then you work a bit, but you’re too tired, so everything you write is crap. By four your daughter gets home. I love that little pumpkin, but what a hurricane, right? I mean, who can write when she’s around? And you can write only one day a week. Hard to be you, buddy.

Me: I’m doing pretty good, I think…

Stress: You want to publish three books this year? At this rate? Ha. Ha ha ha. Bwahahahaha. You could quit your job. But then, you’ll live in your street and you’ll eat only gruel.

Me: I’m not feeling to well.

Stress: Or you could stop writing. Of course, it will destroy your soul.

Me: I think I have a headache. And my heart is kind of racing here…

Stress: Are you okay? Is it something I said? I’m sure you’ll be able to do some writing in fifteen years, when your kids all grow up. Of course, with your high cholesterol, who knows if you’ll even be around in…

Wife: What’s he doing here?

Stress: Oh, shit. Look, I was just dropping by to tell your husband what a good work he’s doing.

Wife (with a broom): I thought I told you I don’t want you here. Out! Out!!!

Stress: Okay! Ow! I’m leaving! Not the head! Ow! I’m out of here, okay?

Me: Thank god. But he said some smart things. I mean, I’m not writing fast enough… Ow! Not the head!

Wife: Then stop that. Get to work.

Some guests overstay their welcome. It’s useful to be married to someone like my wife when that happens.

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