Apr 17

Irene is picking me up at 5:30. I asked her what she had prepared for the writing group and she said that she was tearing her hair out all week, that she couldn't come up with anything.

Maybe this will make her realize that she picked the wrong hobby. Writing is a serious business, not everyone can just pick up a pen and paper.

It's been a really productive day, I feel like all my juices are flowing. I have so much energy! I totally reorganized the filing cabinets at work and entered the inventory into the computer.

Mom and Mr. Van Heusan keep looking at me like I'm about to burst into flames. They don't realize when the soul is satisfied the fingers work furiously.

That's pretty good, I'll have to remember that.

Apr 18

This is awful, completely awful I don't know what I'm going to do.

There was a new guy in the group Simon. He's very tall, skinny and has a goatee. He's got a way of looking at you that makes you feel he's peeking into your brain.

The rest of them waddled in with their coffees and honeybuns as if they were settling in for a night of bingo.

They all read out the usual crapola. Nancy (or Nance as she wants to be called but I refuse to be bossed around by her) wrote about getting lost at the circus when she was a child. It was completely confusing. I wanted to ask if she ever found her way out, but I realized just in time that she probably did, otherwise she wouldn't be there.

Margaret wrote something about her dead mother's hands or heart or something that nobody cares about and they went on and on and on.

After each piece they did the usual sighing and bleating about how "wonderful" the work was.

Irene admitted to the group that she had trouble coming up with anything. I huffed and rolled my eyes expecting the rest of the group to join in but they didn't so I had to fake a coughing fit.

That set them off on big "writer's block" tangent and they did everything but wrap her up in their arms and rock her.

Blech.

I got so tired of hearing about it that I kept looking at my watch pointedly and started tapping the table leg with my shoe. They finally got it when I said very subtly "Those who can do, those who can't..." I didn't finish the line because I couldn't remember if the next part was teach or criticize but they got the point.

I regretted saying that after I finished reading my work. You don't piss off people you want to critique you. I can't believe how petty these people are, they were so mad at my comment they took it out on my work.

They took it apart line by line and kept asking things like "what does this line mean: My eyes, hollow tunnels leading to an unfinished roadway, deceptively present.?

It's literature for chrissake! I can't explain every single line. I was absolutely furious, the only one who didn't tear the work apart was the new guy. I was fuming as I listened to their moronic questions and idiotic comments. I pretended I was listening until I felt like I was going to explode. I knew I had to cool off so I excused myself to go to the washroom.

I had some trouble finding it. You have to go through a maze of corridors and I never paid any attention to the route because I've always been with Irene. I tried about 12 doors but they were all locked. I went out to a stairwell to take a peek and the door clicked behind me locking me out.

I hammered on the door for about ten minutes hoping they would hear me, but nothing. I went upstairs only to find the door at the top was locked as well. The only other door was an exit.

I went out hoping the front door of the building would be open but of course it was locked too. I circled the building until I spotted the room where the the group was and tried to crawl through the hedges to get their attention.

The bushes were the prickly ones with the little red berries and I was being eaten alive, so I went to the parking lot and tried to find some pebbles to throw at the window. By the time I got back with something big enough to make noise but not big enough to shatter the glass the lights were out.

I peeled all the way around the building until I got to the front entrance and Irene was standing there holding my backpack and my coat. She looked really worried.

She saw me and asked if I was OK and I didn't even get a chance to tell her what happened before she hustled me off to the car giving me so much sympathy that I wanted to puke.

She rambled on about how awful it was for me, how I must have been humiliated, she doesn't blame me a bit for storming out. If they'd dealt with her work the same way she said she'd do exactly the same thing!!!!

I tried to tell her what happened, that I didn't storm out, I got locked out but she just kept giving me sorrowful looks and patting my hand.

Aaarrrrrrhhhhhhh!

So, the rest of the group thinks I can't take criticism.

Me not be able to take criticism? Me? I would loooooove to hear their thoughts on my work absolutely looooove to hear them, if they weren't so damn stupid and untalented.

Apr 19

I was going to quit the group before this debacle but I can't now. I just can't let them think that anything they said had an impact on me.

I was thinking of trying the truth but if it didn't work on Irene it most certainly wouldn't work on those Druids. I would poke their eyeballs out with a pencil if they gave me sympathetic looks.

I've got to think of something.