Knock, knock, knock...
Higher Self: Hello?? Is anyone in there?
Lower Self (er, me): Oh. You talkin' to me?
Higher Self: Uh, actually, yes. I've been trying to get your attention.
Me: Wow. How long have you been standing there knocking?
Higher Self: A while.
Me: Sorry. I've been a little busy.
Higher Self: Yeah, apparently you didn't get my message the other night either.
Me: Message? Uh, no, I--
Higher Self: In the dream, the dream! You know the one where you were in the roomful of babies?
Me: Babies? Well, maybe there were babies. Hey, you're not suggesting--
Higher Self: No, no, nothing like that. You're being literal.
Higher Self: So you remember, in the dream, how your boss kissed your forehead, smiled benevolently and said, "You should do that." (indicating the babies)
Higher Self: Try to focus.
Me: Okay. I'm focused. Like a laser beam. Just spit it out, will you?
Higher Self: The babies. They're not...babies. They're ideas. The birth of something creative. You remember creative...right?
Me: Creative.... Uh, huh.... Those 'babies' don't come cheap, you know? And like I said, I'm a little busy right now.
Higher Self: Hey, I'm not concerned with minutae that blocks your path.
Me: Path, schmath... I'm getting a regular paycheck. I don't have time for "babies." (grandson excluded)
Higher Self: (Smiling pitiably at it's lower common denominator.) If the knocking's not loud enough, I can arrange for a wrecking ball...
Me: Is this all about that finished novel manuscript I'm not submitting? Because I'm not scared if that's what you think. I'm not. Of rejection.And ego battering "this was really close for me" letters, or reminders about how hard the publishing biz is these days. And when I say'finished' that's merely a figurative statement. It needs a 5,365th rewrite.
Higher Self: Two words: Minutae, excuses. That's all I have to say.
Me: Well, thank God you're done. I'm sure all the people out there reading this are glad, too.
Higher Self: I'm gonna keep sending the baby dreams.
Me: I know.