July 10, 2002

Today is the day to forget about the standing ovation.

In honor of the heavily overproduced, undersatisfying All-Star Game last night, I have a small piece called "My First Season" on Dezmin.

10

Lillibet was a good friend to George, which meant that she was as unpleasant to him as he was to the rest of the world. And so she tormented George throughout lunch.

She commented on his clothes:
"Slapdash, sloppy, and grease-soaked."

She commented on his hair:
"It looks like it was cut by blind monkeys with manicure scissors."

She commented on his eating style:
"Like you're breathing through a snorkel."

She even commented on his latest novel:
"The dustjacket design looked like crap."

However, George had said that he couldn't discuss his problem until he was finished with lunch, so she thought she was being considerate, simply making conversation. She knew that she was there to help George and to offer him advice, so she knew her boundaries.

After George had finished his bacon cheeseburger, his fries, his onion rings, his vanilla coke, his milkshake, and half of Lillibet's gyro, he was ready to talk. She settled back, covered her plate with her napkin, and crossed her arms.

"Okay," he said. "Here it is. I've got writer's block."

Lillibet stared.

"That's it?"

George narrowed his piggish eyes. "This is me we're talking about. I don't get writers block. I just write."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't see what's so special about your problem. Everybody's had it."

"You've had writers' block?" George asked, incredulous. He wondered, briefly, why he had never seen the potential for writer's block in Lillibet. He wasn't sure he would have dated her if he had known that she suffered from it.

"Yes," she answered, peevishly.

"What did you do?"

"I did other things," Lillibet sniffed. "Unlike you, I am not a one-trick pony. I am a writer and a scientist and more. if I don't write, I have other things to do. Maybe you should take up some other activity."

George rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, George." Lillibet snapped. "Now obviously there's more to this problem. There had better be. If a little writer's block is your problem, I'm leaving."

George bit his lower lip. "I don't get writer's block. I'm the best writer on earth. I know it, everybody knows it. I don't have to work to write. It just comes to me. And suddenly, I can't do it."

"So what, George? It'll come back, and you're filthy rich. Just take a break. I don't see what you have to worry about."

"I'm not worried," he snapped.

Lillibet threw up her hands. "Well I don't know how to help you."

George didn't want to say what else he felt, but he knew that Lillibet would eventually tease it out of him or else the entire visit would eventually end up pointless.

"But everybody else…" he mumbled.

"What? Speak up."

"Everybody else I know is writing."

"That's not true. I'm not writing."

"Everybody who shouldn't be writing is writing. My family members. My old professors. I'm sure my neighbors, everybody I touch is writing. It's like all my writing spilled out of me and to everybody else I know."

"So what? You can't be the only writer in the world. I know tons of other talented people and that doesn't bother me. I'm confident in how smart I am. I thought you were. Moreso than anybody else."

"Of course I know how good I am."

"So what's your problem?"

"It's not fair."

"George, I'm just not understanding you. What are you missing? What's so wrong?"

George thought about what he wanted to say. Admitting his fears and faults was more upsetting to him than actually possessing them.

He went ahead anyway.

"If I'm not the best, the only talented writer in the world, then what else is there for me?"

"Don't be selfish, George," she said.

"There's just something wrong!" he nearly shouted. "Something doesn't feel right. Something is wrong."

Lillibet furrowed her brow.

"Are you feeling all right, George?" She asked. "Does paranoia or schizophrenia run in your family?" She lowered her voice and said condescendingly, "You know, that's not uncommon for smart people such as yourself."

George threw up his hands.

"I think I'm cursed," he said.

"Don't be a moron," she said. But then she considered.

"Let's get dessert," she said. "I want to think about this."

George was miserable.