Late at night in a one-bedroom apartment in Boulder, Colorado.
Inner Critic: Hey, are you awake?
Darryl: No.
Inner Critic: You just answered. Are you awake now?
Darryl: Obviously. What.
Inner Critic: I have a question for you.
Darryl: Fire away
Inner Critic: Yeah, I just wanted to know… WHAT THE FUCK?
Darryl: It’s too late for this shit.
Inner Critic: It’s March. Didn’t you make a promise to a bunch of people, last month? I thought we had a deal.
Darryl: I did really well last month.
Inner Critic: You said that you would write every day last month. Every day for 28 days. You even picked February because it was a short month.
Darryl: and I wrote a lot.
Inner Critic: And now it’s March and you didn’t even write 14 entries.
Darryl: It got windy, remember?
Inner Critic: All month?
Darryl: And it got cold so I couldn’t write outside and besides I wrote more last month than I did almost any time last year.
Inner Critic: You said 28 and you didn’t even get to twenty, you got to eight.
Darryl: 8 is enough
Inner Critic: Well this month, you’re going to do better.
Darryl: Last month, I ran out of things to talk about.
Inner Critic: What about “Pretty Eyes?”
Darryl: *looks at Desktop, with draft entitled “Pretty Eyes” staring back.* Nope. Not happening. Maybe if I run out of things, but no. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it either.
Inner Critic: Publish it, no one reads your blog anyway unless the word NBA is in the headline.
Darryl: People read my Race stuff too… but yeah, try again
Inner Critic: What about Anthony Mason?
Darryl: Too soon.
Inner Critic: Russell Westbrook?
Darryl: Everyone knows how I feel about Westbrook.
Inner Critic: Therapy?
Darryl: Nope
Inner Critic: Your job?
Darryl: Can’t
Inner Critic: Figure it out on your own. Either way, if you want to get better at this, you need to write at least ten things this month. Oh, and Derrick Rose.
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