A Conversation with Tubby – 12

I was sitting alone at the farthest corner inside the café, sipping peacefully on my tea when he helped himself to the chair across from me.

Me: What do you want?

Tubby: Now, now! Is that anyway to greet an old friend?

Me: What’s with the pretentious language! Who do you think you are, freaking Mr. Darcy?

Tubby: Ah, classical literature references, now who’s being pretentious?

Me: What do you want? Can’t you see I’m enjoying the silence?

Tubby: Hardly so. You’ve been trying to find one good thought to write about to no avail.

Me: So?

Tubby: So I’m here to the rescue.

Me: And how exactly do you intend to help?

Tubby: Let’s see. You’ve had some interesting ideas on the way here. Like when you were stuck in traffic under that bridge

Me: And I started thinking what if the bridge collapsed. That’s not very interesting.

Tubby: Well, the interesting part is that you were wondering if you should leave your car and come to the café anyway.

Me: Your point?

Tubby: It’s funny how you start with something colossal and then forget about it and start thinking about the minor stuff.

Me: What can I say, a life of micro-planning is sure to produce some side effects.

Tubby: well, it’s not only that. You always sweat the small stuff.

Me: No I don’t!

Tubby: Yes you do. Even before going anywhere you start thinking what route you should take despite having been there a zillion times.

Me: That’s unfair, I stopped doing that. That is not to say I like to be prepared. Nothing wrong with having a plan.

Tubby: The best laid plans of mice and men…

Me: Often go astray. I know, I know. I’ve had my fair share of plans going astray. I’m not saying plans should always work, I just like to keep them handy, safety tools you might say.

Tubby: Drop the shrink talk. You’re obsessed with planning.

Me: “Obsessed” is pretty much shrink talk if you ask me.

Tubby: I didn’t ask you.

Me: Very funny.

Tubby: No, really. Think about it. The biggest problem with that bridge collapsing, for you, would be that it messed with your schedule.

Me: Would you please stop psychoanalyzing me? You said you were here to help, you didn’t give me one interesting idea to write about.

Tubby: Why write? Can you just sit here, stare at that cat out of the window and drink your tea? Why do you have to “do” something all the time?

Me: Okay, it’s getting late, I’m getting out of here…

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