On Sloughing

With my feet propped against the railing and a friend’s borrowed laptop resting on my knees, I sat on the veranda of the cafe. I was trying out the computer and the establishment’s wireless connection, trying to decide if the freedom provided by both would enhance my creative endeavors.

“Hey there, honey!” I jumped in my seat and nearly sent my half-caff, low-fat caramel macchiato spilling on the laptop. That piercing shrill voice could only belong to Arvilla.

I pulled my feet off the railing, sat up straight and stared in disbelief.

“Now, darlin’, I know exactly what yer thinkin’—‘what is SHE doing here after that unfortunate misunderstanding!’”

At our last meeting, Arvilla, my Inner Critic, had been unceremoniously booted from my life—at least I thought so at the time. Apparently, I was wrong.

The tall, garishly red-headed woman plopped down next to me.

“Arvilla—“

“Sweetie, don’t have a hissy fit just yet—I’ve been sent—“

“Sent? To me?”

“Yes, sent. Let me finish, please. I was sent by ‘The Powers-That-Be,’” she rolled her eyes upward, “who say I need to start using my talents in a more ‘constructive way’. Honestly, they have no understanding of my abilities. After all, I’m the one that keeps sub-standard drivel from ever being published. No one appreciates that!” Arvilla sniffed.

“You should get an award, Arvilla.”

“Oh, don’t you get all snotty with me, missy. You’ll be thankin’ me in a minute.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. So…. What are you doing?”

“Answering e-mail. So?”

“So? How much of that e-mail you’re readin’ and answerin’ is really important?”

I shifted in my seat and looked away.

“A lot of it is prattle, isn’t? And those people writing the prattle— how productive to you think they’ve been this week?”

“Well, not much, but that’s their choice. If they want to waste time……”

“And you’re not wastin’ time with them?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Really? How much have YOU written this week–other than answering their e-mails, of course? “

“I haven’t had time to write stories. I’ve been busy with other things too, y’know.”

Arvilla glanced down at my caramel macchiato and the laptop.

“Don’t give me that look. This is where I get a lot of mental work done—coming up with new story ideas. And I’m testing this laptop to see if I want to buy one myself.”

“Ah, so you will have a new and improved high-speed way to waste even more time on the Internet? Good thinkin’, honey.”

“I do research when I’m on-line!”

“Ah, is that what you call it?”

“Don’t you judge me!”

“That’s my job, sweetie.”

Arvilla rose to her feet and gave me a long, cold stare.

“Avoidance, sweetie. There’s a name for it. ”

I was speechless. Arvilla was right—for a change. I needed to slough it out of my life. After a long moment, I closed the laptop.

“Well! My job’s done here. Forgive me, darlin’, for leaving so soon, but there’s a young man in New Zealand who spends all his time in a pub instead of painting. I need to drop by and see him. Oh, how I will be glad when I’ve paid off my debt. The jet-lag is killin’ me. Ta-ta!”

I sighed. I hate it when she’s right.

Lori Gloyd © 2006