A Monologue for Two

Me: Forsooth!

Myself: Forsooth?

Me: Yes. Forsooth. (Pause). What?

Myself: Well, forsooth. You sound a complete wazzock.

Me: Lots of people say forsooth.

Myself: Not NOW you daft arse. No one has uttered even one forsooth off stage for at least two hundred years. Do we even know whether real people wandered about and forsoothed at each other, you know, EVER?

Me: We could do a wee Google….”

Myself: What does forsooth even mean though?

Me: Google….

Myself: What would you put after forsooth. You can’t just start a whole story because you thought of a word that sounded, you know, starty.

Me: Well, between you and me, there may be some proof that method has had good results for me here and there.

Myself: And now?

Me: Yeah. Now. Not so sure.

Myself: You know you have other stuff to do. You can’t just drop all the other stuff because you thought of a word when you were out for a walk.

Me: No. No, you are absolutely correct, of course. Shut the laptop, we have matters to attend to.

Myself: Well, some of them are ON the laptop you know, so….

Me: Oh. Yeah. Well, don’t shut the laptop then. Maybe just, you know, don’t do the story any more.

Myself: Why forsooth though? Really?

Me: Well, forsooth has none of the letters not allowed. For the challenge.

Myself: None of them?

Me: Well, one.

Myself: So all the other letters are….

Me: No, only one letter can’t be used.

Myself: Oh. Any letter? Can you choose?

Me: Your endeavour to make me say the letter cannot succeed.

Myself: No? How many attempts were there at that sentence?

Me: More than one. Less than four.

Myself: Sooner or later, that letter shall sneak onto the page!

Me: The verbs get me. Present tense verbs. They keep creep…..

Myself: STOP

Me: So you’re on my team now are you?

Myself: Choose your battles, you know. Bash out your wee play here, then you can concentrate better on the other stuff.

Me: Apostrophe esses. That would be the other sneaky creeper. You know, “that-apostrophe-s” or “what-apostrophe-s”.

Myself: Fuuuuck. Harder than you would have thought, no?

Me: A thousand words, at least, too.

Myself: A thousand words? No, come on, shut the laptop.

Me: Yeah. You’re not wrong.

Myself: Sort of fun, though, to you know, play around some?

Me: Fun, yes, for about three hundred words, and then….

Myself: Well forsooth was never a grand plan then. Forsooth. One word. No plot.

Me: Well no, that has become more clear now, thank you.

Myself: No problem. Do you want to know what else you’ve cocked up so far today?

Me: Why not! No, pause a second. No. The correct answer would probably be no.

Myself: Are you sure? Because when you woke up, you had the chance to get up early and get a head start on the day and…

Me: But the cat sat on my lap.

Myself: So your lameness as a human would be the fault of the cat.

Me: Yes. No. Actually no. What happened was that the chance to demonstrate love and care to another creature was presented to me and any good person would have offered that tenderness over, say, housework.

Myself: You could have gone for a run.

Me: Really? When does that ever happen?

Myself: Cycle?

Me: My back. The day before you go away would not be the moment to put your back out. You know that has happened before.

Myself: You could have packed a bag then.

Me: True. At lunch. A speedy bag pack. That only takes quarter of an hour.

Myself: Forsooth.

Me: Really?

Myself: Forsooth.

Me: You repeated yourself.

Myself: No. You could have used forsooth there.

Me: As a response to your forsooth?

Myself: Umm... probably.

Me: When do we plan to take lunch?

Myself: Why?

Me: My stomach says lunch approaches.

Myself: You’re hungry?

Me: Yeah.

Myself: Why can’t you just own that hunger then? Why blame your stomach?

Me: Well, that letter problem, you know, the one that cannot be named? That really reduces what can be owned. To be honest, the whole shebang has me hobbled by a sense of myself as someone pushed around by a world not under my control at all. As though all my autonomy has been stolen by one measly vowel. The verb problem too – you can have done stuff, stuff can happen to you, but there proves to be scant chance for purposeful, contemporary acts of any sort.

Myself: Such as the current sense of hunger you have attempted to express.

Me: Absolutely.

Myself: Well let us not neglect to observe that you perform very well at the endeavour set before you.

Me: Now you sound a complete wazzock.

Myself: Yeah. There does appear to be a struggle to dodge a degree of pretence, doesn’t there.

Me: Fun challenge though.

Myself: So were there any plans to follow forsooth?

Me: Yes.

Myself: And?

Me: They got lost. The plans were there, they started to take form, but come the moment of truth, when the keyboard was before me, they had departed for more clement shores.

Myself: What?

Me: They had merged to become one thread of the vast story ether.

Myself: You forgot what came next?

Me: Yes. There was breakfast, you see, and then a conference call, and then messages to respond to, and then the plan was to take just a moment to jot down the starter and come back later, but…

Myself: You haven’t even saved what you HAVE typed, have you?

Me: (pause)

Myself: Wazzock.

Me: No one has ever been perfect, so don’t expect me to be.

Myself: You could afford to be a tad closer to perfect than you are, honestly…

Me: Fuck you.

Myself: And, by proxy, you, you twat.

Me: That was not an error.

Myself: Oh.

Me: Anyway. The moment has come for me to return to work.

Myself: Or lunch.

Me: Or lunch. Maybe lunch.

Myself: You’ve got that salad stuff to use up.

Me: Or work then.

Myself: Or lunch?

Me: A cheesy potato would have been good. And baked beans. Cheese and bean baked potato.

Myself: You would waste the salad.

Me: Salad enhanced by cheese?

Myself: Perhaps.

Me: And beans and potato?

Myself: Look, nobody has the smallest concern about your lunch, you would be well served to cut the lunch part.

Me: See also “The Gram”?

Myself: Not any more, surely. The world must be over food photographs by now?

Me: When are humans over food?

Myself: Yeah, but baked potato, cheese and beans. Talk about lowbrow.

Me: Do you feel all of the above may be, you know, too lowbrow? Not just the lunch part.

Myself: Nah. Just post the story.

Me: But people expect a degree of….

Myself: What?

Me: Yeah, okay.

Myself: And then back to work.

Me: Then back to work, as the fastest, smartest, most marvellous employee and performer of chores ever!

Myself: Forsooth!