I wonder if there's a pattern to all this

Writer: Well...I'm tapped out.

Work Ethic: You didn't do anything!

Writer: Still tapped out.

Me: Wow.

Self-Loathing: How do you want to be a writer for real if you can't even scribble down a damn porn story?

Me: First off...

Self-Loathing: "Alternative fiction". What the fuck ever.

Work Ethic: It's just a bump in the road.

Realism: A bump that's been a good three months long?

Work Ethic: ...a long bump.

Me: Whatever.

Ego: Good. Okay. That's awesome. I'm just going to sit down over here for a while.

Stupid body, you continue to betray me

Me: I wanna write...

Realism: You're exhausted and sicker than a mental patient beating off to his dead grandmother. You can be forgiven. Now go chug Nyquil until you see stars and get some damn rest.

Budding Alcoholism: I...actually can't see any flaws in this plan.

Another Sports One

Sports Freak/Budding Alcoholism/Impotent Rage: FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Me: I'm...I'm just going to let them tire themselves out.