White The Tormentor

And I don’t mean of the pumps variety after Labor Day.

I’m talkin’ white space on a page.

It strikes fear in my heart.

I think it afflicts most writers from time to time.

Or anyone attempting to be a writer.

Or a poet.

Or me….attempting even the most menial writing task….like a grocery list.

My hand quivers, poised over the pristine ivory of a note pad. Even my favorite pen gives me no comfort during This Time Of Great Torment.

I am paralyzed.

ME

Oh, god….I don’t know.  I don’t know!!

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

Go ahead.  Try to write something, hack. Just try. You know you can’t do it.

I try to force my sweaty, pen gripping digits toward that terrifying abyss of whiteness.

ME

It’s too hard! I…I know Skippy is full of sugar but…that fresh ground peanut butter is so…so…I don’t know…oily!! 

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

Wimp.

I cry out in agony.

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

Yeah. Thought so.  Bitchin’ out like you always do.

ME

Stop it!  Why are you doing this to me? 

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

What are you scared of? They’re only…. wooooords. Muuuaahhhhhhaaahahaha

ME

Jesus help me.

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

Oh, please! Don’t embarrass yourself. Calling on The Almighty is the Last Chance Texaco of pathetics like you….oh….and the soon to be executed.

I take a few good cleansing breaths. Straight my slumping shoulders.  I can beat this. Yes, oh, yes, I can.

ME

Okay. Okay. I’m going with the natural P.B.

I slam my pen on to the paper and scribbe with determination. I must hurry before I lose my nerve.

Ah, there. I did it.

And I smile.

Confident.

WHITE THE TORMENTOR

What about bread?  Hmmmm?  What will people think if you don’t choose the gluten free? It’s so…”in” right now.

ME

I’m not gluten intolerant, asshole!  I’ve had enough of this crapola.

I snatch up the sheet that has but one word, crush it furiously between my fists and toss it in the recycle bin.

I was never any good with lists anyway.

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