Tom’s obviously been too idle. He just responded to my follow up on his draft by shoving his phone up my face and showing me a tweet. Pathetic.
“Seriously, Tom. If we’re talking about a couple of hours, one, two days, maybe you’re entitled to that ‘dilemma.’ But three weeks! That’s not procrastination, Tom, stop kidding yourself. This is a disaster. And besides, how bad is that writer’s block, that mental paralysis of yours that you gotta search up an appropriate tweet to answer me? Is there absolutely nothing to be squeezed out of your brain anymore?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s glued to his phone again. Now I can’t decide whether to hit his head with my beer bottle or just leave him there. This is so tiring.
He turns his phone to me again. Another tweet.
“I can’t take this drama, Tom. You signed up for this. Come on, you gotta deliver.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Tom, look. You know how to do this. You had all the practice you needed in school, workshops…You have a masters degree! You’ve had a colorful life that you can draw from, so many characters and situations you’ve studied, all these years!”
He’s showing me his phone again. This is seriously getting problematic.
“Oookay. We are getting more and more profound, while obviously getting nowhere. Let me just leave you here before I kill you or kill myself or do both. Maybe tomorrow I can actually talk to you. Bye, Tom.”
He just looked at me for a second then went back to his phone. This is bad. Dire measures must be taken.
Twitter prompts courtesy of Writing 101.