My brain: I’m tired.
Me: [sympathetically] I know.
My brain: Let’s read a book.
My brain: Awesome. I’ll just pick this one up and–
Me: [grabs Brain by the collar] Right after we finish our work. [gestures toward the blog with a laziness that could be mistaken for elegance]
My brain: [does not mistake it for elegance] I’m tired.
Me: It won’t take long.
My brain: You said that an hour ago.
Me: Well, you didn’t give me anything to write yet.
My brain: [sighs, open her arms, and starts spilling things on the floor: sunrise; sunset; the seeming collision of Venus and Jupiter in a black sky that we missed in reality a few hours ago thanks to the thunderstorm, but might not have to miss in fiction; a school of yellow fish; a rant about the beautiful purpose of words, which has clearly been misunderstood by that sixteen-year-old I just heard say that one of her life goals was to gain the sort of quick and brilliant vocabulary that would ensure that no one understood her; the smooth sound of a clock ticking over the head of someone ready to strike; a crowbar; a box of oreos; the desire to be clever without its twin, the will to be clever; roof cats; a knife named kitten; peppermint; a growing headache; introspection on why that font reminds me of pirates even though I know the book is about superheroes; terrible mercy and fortunate cruelty; marbles, bubbles, toothpicks and a box of jacks]
Me: Thank you?
My brain: Let’s go watch Game of Thrones.