Left: (waking up) Oh no! Another blog to post!

Right: (sympathic) Tired?

Left:  (yawn) You bet?!

Right: Maybe you can try giving a break.

Left: (deep sigh) No option.

Back: May I…?

Forward: Go on, as if you’ll stop if she says ‘No!’

Back: Try changing the format.

Right: Sound option there, you know.

Left: (sigh) ------

Right: Write something different. Or different-ly.

Left: I could do that. But do I have a subject left?

Right: Hmm…Have you covered everything?

Forward: Now let us see, what have I written about so far?

Left: On Writing…

Right: Yourselves. Myself. Childhood. Daddy…

Back: …Women. Issues…

Forward: …dogs, love, life.

Left: …death, disappointment, aches, boyfriends.

Right: …Mothers-in-law!

Forward: That one was neat!

Back: …the future.

Right: …the past.

Left: …the present…

Back: (sigh) I guess you’ve tackled most of it.

Forward: Not in depth, has she?

Left: (incredulous) More penetration? You mean brush strokes aren’t enough?

Right: Collages? Broad sweeps?

Back: She’s barely skimmed the surface.

Forward: Come now, face it. You’ve been lazy.

Right: There is that dream Gagan asked for. You’ve left it untouched.

Left: No, I tried. But you know I can’t write that.

Right: Yes of course, I understand completely. Too personal.

Forward: You tried to catch the flights upon waking.

Back: (murmurs) And she kept notes. All those notes, hurriedly scribbled before they fade…wasted?

Left: Did, except, I can’t use them. Can’t lie and pass them off as fiction.

Back: (kindly) You could try.

Right: You know she doesn’t lie, not on the tip of her nib.

Left: You are the only one who understands me, Rightie.

Forward: Sorry, why exactly can she not write a dream? Care to explain?

Left: Symbols are too personal.

Right: Dreams are too naked.

Left: Disjointed backgrounds are so difficult to make comprehensible.

Right: Yes, too much to disclose.

Left: Too nearby for comfort.

Back: Aren’t you the one who says everything’s a mere stimulus?

Left: Yes…but…

Right: How ‘bout a book write up?

Forward: (peps up) Or film?

Right: What’s that blue thing you’re reading now?

Left: (very low) Michel Danino. The Lost River.

Back: But she hasn’t finished it yet.

Forward: Talk about the ashram. Of faith.

Right: (whispers) Is she the correct one to talk of that? She has none.

Back: Shouldn’t that go in the ‘other’ blog? The one that didn’t take off?

Left: (glum) Yeah…every time I log in, blogger reminds me ‘No posts. Start blogging!’

Right: (sympathic) You take your time.

Forward: Don’t. You haven’t much, my dear.

Back: Excuse me, does it go here at all?

Left: (perplexed) I don’t know. Who will read yet another blog? I’m not even a real writer.

Back: What is real in a life that migrates out to the unreal at its both ends?

Right: The same ones who do this?

Left: (thoughtful) Do they now?

Right: (gently) You know they do.

Forward: Isn’t that why you feel compelled to not stop – they are who you’re ashamed to let down.

Left: Hmm…who I wake at 2AM to write for.

Back: Thank God for those readers. You at least make the effort.

Left: (sigh) Yeah, I know. This peculiar goading that feeds this fire, I don’t know to what finale.

Back: Finale? Death is life, my love, if you begin to question all culminations.

Right: If there’s nothing else to it, then you have to cook something, dear.

Forward: (gleefully) More gobbledygook!

Left: (resigned) Yeah, I better think up something.

Right: (compassionate) ---

Back: (ponderous) ---

Forward: (gay) ---

Left: (sigh) ---