Mo: How've you been?
Moville: Do you really care, or are you just making polite conversation?
Mo: Oh, don't be like that. Of course I care!
Moville: You don't post pictures, you dont write...what's a blog to think? I mean, my whole exsistence turns on a word-hell, even a visit from you, and as far as I can tell, You have forgotten that you even created me!
Mo: No! No, I haven't forgotten! I've just been a bit...
Mo: Yeah. Busy.
Mo: I really do mean to write...
Mo: ...but I have nothing worth writing about.
Moville: Oh, please. Like you ever hand anything worth writing about. "Red Beans 'n Rice?" "Office Haiku #3?" All you ever bring me is little bits of nothing, so if you have nothing to write about, you should be all set to go! So get to it! Let's try, "Toad Escapes Basement to Wreak Havoc; Lounges."
Mo: Well, that's it exactly. This is a great place for fluff, for the odd bits of funny flotsam jumbling up my head. But I don't seem to have any of that floating around up there just now. Do you see?
Moville: Not really.
Mo: Well, um...OK-Have you ever felt so dully resigned that all of the glittery fragmented possibilities of "what is" and "what could be" sort of fade out of focus and die?
Mo: Yeah. Resigned to your crappy job, to your ugly car, to the fact that you took the turnpike instead of 309 but it's too late to turn back, to you whole dusty life, slowly grinding forward day by predictable day? Resigned-when you thought there would be more, but have accepted that there is not, and don't even really think about it anymore?
Moville: I am an imaginary bit of stationary whose sole purpose is to record and serve the thoughts of a single sniveling human animal. A human animal who, by the way, is a terrible speller. Who might step in front of a bus tomorrow, leaving words everywhere more correctly spelled, but also leaving me alone and adrift in a soup of impulses and unfriendly spammers, or worse, erase me on a whim because I don't "reflect her, you know, creatively." I am a few pages of electronic code that is sustained by and dependant upon the competance of programmers and disinterest of hackers. I have no mass. I'm not even speaking right now. You are just talking to yourself and pretending that I exist so you can feel like you told someone who cares. No. I know nothing about resignation. Why do you ask?
Mo: I don't know. I thought maybe you'd understand.
Mo: I guess not.
Mo: You don't have to be a jerk about it.
Mo: I know you are, but what am I?
Mo: All right, I'll be back soon with some pithy scrap of nothing to justify your world.
Mo: Don't force it. You'll just embarrass yourself.