Thursday, June 28, 2012
In an alternate universe, I am a black leather trench coat wearing, ass kicking, demon slaying immortal with a Wind and Thunder Wakizashi blade strapped on my back and gravity defying skills. My reputation precedes me; clearing out hell bred evil long before I need to lift a finger with just the sound of my boots arriving.
In this universe, I am a woman who has tremendous difficulty turning away from the siren song of cupcakes fresh from the oven and I can be found, curled up in a chair reading far more often than on a road walking. It’s just sad.
A few months back I ordered up the whole, “One totally wrecked knee and a side of tibial plateau fracture” combo meal. I’m free of crutches now and pain meds and even physical therapy. Just a little limp and stiffness if I find my rear end has been glued to the computer chair too long and I forget to get up and stretch it out.
Good stuff happened too while I was in “reset” mode. I finally dragged a writing project out that has been cooling its heels for ten years under my bed and it is now a fully cooked manuscript, on its way to publishing. That was good. But in order to get there, it required hundreds of hours of sitting and sitting and sitting as I wrote and rewrote and printed and edited and corrected until it felt like it was done.
You know, there’s no room to wear a sword on your back while you’re sitting at a computer chair? Trust me. And there are also a frightful number of demons that can sneak up behind you while your head is down and your fingers are flying on the keys. Demons like fast food and the ninth cup of coffee and the forgotten promise to exercise. Demons like doubt and worst of all, the dreaded Imtoo: the deadliest near-life form of all.
Imtoo, the personal demon of dashed hope, slithers into a room and parks its grand ass on your best sofa. Then it stretches out its legs, mud covered shoes atop your coffee table, crossed at the ankles all casual like and knits it fingers together behind its head to watch your cage match with Motivation. Your opponent is pinned and the next move is your coup de grace when Imtoo chimes in with a whiny voice like a five year old who needs a nap; a voice that sounds eerily like your own voice because it is, coming up from the depths of your subconscious.
Imtoo. Imtoo. Imtoo. “I’m too old for this crap. I’m too tired to work out. I’m too fat to walk in these shorts. I’m too uncoordinated to do yoga. I’m too hungry to step away from the table…” Damn it! Where’s my sword! I want to cut this piece of garbage into a thousand pieces and throw him on a bonfire you could see from space!
He’s the embodiment of doubt; the demon that looks so innocent but destroys your presentations at work, your job interviews, your relationships, your food programs, your sobriety and your happiness.
I am sword shopping. Why should I only get to kick ass in another universe when mine needs kicking in this one? It doesn’t matter if it’s a virtual sword, I’m going to start wearing it every day just so I’m ready when a waffle distracts me or some other equally lame thing stands between me and putting myself in the best condition I can be in right now.
Imtoo Doubtful, bring it.
(Sound of steel sliding out of a scabbard…)
If you're in need of a FANTASTIC urban fantasy read- check out the Empress of Demon Slayer Writers- author, Lilith Saintcrow. Her many books are available through Amazon and other booksellers. Warning! You're gonna get hooked...
Posted by Mimi DiFrancesca