The thrill of a day with nothing to do means an entire day to write. Me versus the blank page, my favorite war. Some days it’s easy, others a struggle. You can never tell which way it’s going to go. It’s just something that’s felt. Some words seem genius, others a bore. Most unusable, especially in a first draft. I tell everyone it flows easy. Never mentioning the hours of study, practice, reading, editing and growing. People will ask how hard can it be to write? Just say what you’re thinking. But I don’t think America isn’t ready for that. I’m not either.
The sun was shining bright and the birds were chirping. Being outside always inspires writing. I made a coffee, grabbed a book, and headed out to soak up the warmth.
The morning turned into the afternoon.
My lady noticed the beauty of the day and wanted to go out. I told her I wanted to write. She went and got ready. I sat staring at a blank computer screen. I had a great idea for a post, but as soon as I sat down to start writing, all the words, sentences, and ideas in my head disappeared. Gone. A figment of my imagination. When my lady came down in a sundress an hour later, I slammed my laptop shut, hopped in the shower, and told her that we can go wherever she’d like. I hadn’t written a word. I’ll save the writing for later.
Next thing I knew, she was asleep in bed, and I still had a blog to finish.
There I was back at my desk. The words refused to come out. A blinking cursor tormented me on the blank page. After staring at an empty computer screen for ten minutes, my stomach growled. A pizza would really help me write.
Procrastination.
It’s the biggest enemy of getting anything done, especially writing. The procrastination monster in my brain had three decades of excuses and rebuttals built in. And today, it was whooping my ass.
My stomach grumbled.
I looked down at the clock. 11:00. I was in the pizza twilight zone. Only chain shops were open this late. There’s just something special about being hyped over pizza that was essentially delivered Ellios.
Ellios. I ate that all the time as a kid. The only issue was that it took eighteen to twenty-two minutes to cook, which doesn’t even factor in preheating the oven. You’re looking at potential forty minutes there, and as a pre-teen and even teenager that’s an eternity. It’s four quarters of a football video game.
Pizza. Not writing. That’s what’s I need.
I remember a time I ordered cheap, late pizza and it was incredible. The cheese was melty. The crust was warm. It was the perfect ratio of sauce to bread. It was hot. It was fresh. It was so damn sexy. Every time it gets late at night, and I crave pizza, I remember that perfect combination of cheese, bread and sauce. And like a junkie chasing his fix, I convince myself that this next order will just be like that perfect pie. As you late-night enthusiasts know, you’ll never catch that high again. I hold out hope that someday, I’ll experience that perfect cardboard pizza once again. But the pizza disappoints every time.
There is one cheat code though. If you’re inebriated, you’ll scarf down a whole pie and tell your friends “how this is the best pizza you’ve ever had” or “I can’t believe this tastes so good.” I don’t know, maybe it’s the beers and five shots of tequila that has impaired your judgment, but hey, what do I know?
All this pizza talk reminds me, I have half of a pizza waiting in my fridge. I ordered it a week ago, so I’m sure it’s good? How long can you store pizza in a fridge? That’s something they should put on the pizza box. It’s pretty important information.
Hold on.
After a quick Google search of “how long can I store leftover pizza?” I discovered that you should only store a leftover pizza for three to four days. I mean, it makes sense. It’s melted cheese on sauce and bread. I can only imagine the bacteria that grows on that after a day. The article also recommends freezing leftover pizza in tin foil and plastic wrap to extend the shelf life, but that’s a lot of work. Despite the overwhelming evidence, I think I’ll stick with my method of how long pizza can last.
I examine the pizza. I smell the pizza. I cook the pizza – in the microwave. Chain store pizza doesn’t deserve the time it takes to preheat and cook it. I once again examine the pizza. I smell the pizza. I bite the pizza.
At any point during those stages I see or smell something funky, I immediately just dump garlic powder on the slices and add ten more seconds to the cook time.
The clock hit eleven forty-five. Fifteen minutes to my self-imposed deadline. How serious is that? I didn’t need to make it. If I ordered pizza now, it would get here a little after midnight. A deadline that never missed. I am doing it. I am ordering online so I can stalk my pizza until it arrives.
I find all kinds of excuses to order trash pizza at night. It was cheap. They always had insane deals and coupons. They had a cookie the size of a small pizza. And each chain pizza store did one appetizer right, but it was hard to remember which store and app went with what.
I needed pizza. Tonight it was my reward.
I look at the clock. Midnight. There were no regrets. The allure of a beautiful day and a prettier woman made me put off the writing. No one became a great writer by sitting at their desk. My words weren’t Hemingway, but they were done. I hit publish. I guess that makes me a writer.
