Humor

I’m going to email my Congressperson, as soon as I figure out who that is.

Bev Potter

Mar 21·3 min read

1. I moved my laptop screen a quarter of an inch from its normal angle and now I can’t turn my head. Can I put Icy Hot on my neck? What if it penetrates my spine, paralyzes me from the neck down, and then I need a service monkey? I’m not sure I’m ready for the responsibility of owning a monkey.
2. I have writer’s butt from sitting in one place for hours at a time. I look like a Weeble. Or a particularly lifelike potato.
3. Nobody knows what a Weeble is. Please send my Social Security checks immediately.
4. I don’t write enough. My compensation should be based on what I would’ve earned as a writer had I fulfilled my promise, instead of seething with jealousy for several decades at successful writers who actually spent their time writing instead of seething with jealousy.
5. I can’t read my handwriting. I have notes everywhere, scribbled on one of 15 million notepads that my mom gets from St. Jude’s. Much like Hemingway, I have two kitchen drawers full of nothing but notepads. Mrs. Hemingway was always saying, “Ernie, what’s with the notepads? Where am I supposed to put the can opener?” The problem is that I can’t read my writing, which is my the Millenials banned cursive.
6. My boyfriend refers to me as “a writer” when he introduces me to people. This gives me a stabbing pain in my spleen and I have to go lay down. I can’t handle this kind of pressure.
7. If I read something for inspiration, I can’t think of my own, original ideas. All I can think about is the thing I read. This has got to be a disease of some kind. Brain Lock? Copy Cat-itis? #ihavenotalent
8. Back to my neck. Now it hurts when I swallow. I know it’s just because my neck is stiff, but what if it’s cancer? Can you get Social Security Disability for being a hypochondriac? Please say yes.
9. If I think about something too much, I can’t do it. Like writing. Or chewing. Or breathing. Oh my god, now I’ve forgotten how to breathe. In, out, in, out. Ugh, I’m doing it wrong. The only cure is puppy videos.
10. Even though I want to be a writer, I will do literally anything else to avoid writing. Clearly, I have been damaged from being a writer and should receive a regular, sizeable paycheck from the Bureau of Worker’s Compensation every month. You don’t see Simone Biles cleaning her house obsessively because she doesn’t want to catapult off a pommel horse at 50 miles an hour (I don’t watch gymnastics, I have no idea if this is accurate). I lack dedication. I should clean my house while I think about that. Oh, look! Chipmunks!