Not famous – nope, have done nothing of worth
Not rich – Hmmmmm, struggle to buy groceries
Not particularly good looking – still have own boobs, cellulite, and occasional whisker
Not sports star- can’t even watch it on TV
“Great” thought Paris, “haven’t got a shit show in hell, basically”
She shut down the computer, wandered into the kitchen and poured herself yet another glass of Chateau de Crap. Sipping as delicately as a dehydrated Bedouin, Paris asked herself the serious question. Capital S, capital Q.
“Is it worth it”.
The little voices in her head immediately began replying…..worrying really, when you thought about it. Isn’t that called borderline personality disorder? All vying for attention, she had to do some serious refereeing. The most vocal of course, was Ego. Ego immediately glossed over reality with a dulcet golden syrupy “Of course it is, you’re amazing”. It was how Paris imagined it would sound if George Clooney was speaking directly at her, over a candle lit dinner – after the oysters. Pure heaven, however as likely as losing her muffin top in a week without exercise - or booze for that matter.
The other voices that managed to get a word in were slightly more realistic, damn them. The whiney arsed voice of Reason piped up next – God, how Paris hated this one. "Look, you're gonna die eventually. Would you rather die now when you're utterly despondent and death would free you from your misery, or would you rather become a rich, famous, good-looking sports star and then die when you finally have something to live for?"
"Id said, "Even if that made sense she should drain the bottle and go pick up a handsome ex-con with tattoos and enjoy her last night."
Ego yelled, "You two are pathetic. Paris has everything going for her she just needs--"
"Screw you," Superego said, jamming his fist into Ego's face. A brawl erupted and went on until Id yelled, "Hold it. Where's Paris?"
"She was sitting right there," Ego said. If anything's happened to--"
"False alarm," Id said. "It's two o'clock." They went into the living room. Paris was right where she always was at two, sitting on the couch with her bottle of wine and her cigarette, watching her soaps.
Opening: Elle Wilman.....Continuation: Evil Editor