“Imaginary Keith, you have work to do today.”
“What work?”
“You know.  Design, imagine, create.  Do the words brick, lattice, and iron gates bring anything to mind?”
“No.”
“How about a shrill woman’s voice, saying “It’s important that we match the architecture.”  Does that ring any bells?”
“No.”
“Do you pay any attention to your life?”
“I can be very astute.  When it’s important.”
“Well, this IS important.  Here’s a couple of words that might jog your memory . . cha ching as in, time to make some money.  How ‘bout now?”
“I’m getting nothing.”

Last night had not gone as originally planned.  What I thought would be a restful evening watching a movie, Morvern Callar, instead turned into a slumber party in the living room, complete with blow up mattress, complete with wiggly son, complete with a viewing of Kangaroo Jack.  Imaginary Keith’s imaginary heart has a weakness for his son’s whimpering.  Within the hour of the phone call, his son, Big G, is once again “rearranging” the apartment.

“You’ve had three months to design this thing.  Now you have one day.  What have you been doing?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.  Are you sure you didn’t take this woman’s calls?”
“Well, maybe.  But you need to get busy.  You have until ten tomorrow morning.”
“Ten?!”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Ten!  Why didn’t you say so.  I have tons of time.”

Imaginary Keith’s genius often shines through only during times of great stress and looming deadlines.  I guess when you’re imaginary, minutes can seem like hours, hours like days.  It mostly just makes me nuts.

“Come on, let’s watch that movie you rented.  It’ll get me thinking.”
“It’s not a movie about fence architecture.”
“Yea, but look at what the box says.  ‘BLITHELY POWERFUL…’ and ‘ENTIRELY REMARKABLE!’  That’s the kind of fence I’m going to design . . . after the movie.”

Who am I to argue with creative genius.  Or is that procrastination expert?  Is there a difference?