The Voices are Back

I'm lying in bed minding my own business...that's not a metaphor for anything dirty. I'm literally just lying in bed, looking at my Android, entering the food that I ate on a site called FatSecret.com. This is not a flattering name for a website, but it works great for logging your food intake and exercise. It's also great for reminding you that you are, indeed, fat.

And that it's not a secret.

So, I'm lying in bed and I hear a voice yelling, "How long has it been? Huh? How long?"

I'm sure I recognize the voice. I check under the bed. I look around the room. I don't actually get out of bed because that would be...whatever the opposite of lazy is. I look at the pug. The pug looks back at me. I say, "Umm, what?"

The pug raises an eyebrow, snorts, and goes back to sleep.

I finish entering the caloric count of a Bojangle's two-piece white combo (you do NOT want to know...it's called FatSecret for a reason, people).

"You'd better listen to me, boy!" the voice yells. And I know who it is. It's Keith David's voice. "It's been at least three months!"

"WHAT'S been three months?" I ask.

"Since you wrote a blog entry. You want your business to grow or not?"

"Ok, whoa. One, it's NOT been three months since I wrote a blog entry. And two, my business is doing just fine. I have a collector, thank you very much."

"Collector, huh?" Keith David can be really condescending.

"Yes," I insist, "a collector."

"Well, tell me this, Mr. I-Have-A-Collector? What happens when he's done buying your work? Then what?"

"Ok, you're being a dick."

Just to prove him wrong, I go check my blog site. The whole time I'm thinking, "six months, my ass." But, of course, when I look at the last blog entry it's been a little more than three months.

"SIX MONTHS???" David Keith's voice rages in my head. I hear him kicking things, throwing things in an angry tantrum. This worries me because he is, afterall, inside my head. I try to get him to calm down, which only makes things worse.

The pug senses something and looks up at me. I shrug.

"Ok," I say. "You're right. I'm lame. I'm sorry."

The flailing in my head seems to slow down.

"I had school and work and painting. I've been busy." I quickly add, "THAT'S NOT AN EXCUSE!" when I hear him start to get riled up again. "I'm just saying. But, I'm back. We'll take care of it. Ok?"

Silence.

"Ok, David?"

"David?" he says. "I'm Captain Artist! Have you already forgotten who the hell I am???"

"Uh, you sound like David Keith," I venture.

"Who the hell is David Keith???" Things start to get kicked again. There's more yelling.

At least going crazy won't be boring.