Match of the day

            ‘I’ll pass,’ says the voice, putting aside the notebook and filling the kettle.

            ‘You always do this,’ says the Inner Critic, kicking me hard and stopping me in my tracks before the kettle is even boiled.

            The rest of the team line up to take free kicks. The negative voices are centre forward in my mind, sliding in and taking control. They pass the ball between them.

            ‘She hasn’t got what it takes.’

            ‘She’s too lazy.’

            ‘What’s the point?’

            ‘She’s just not good enough.’

            That one strikes hard in the back of the net. Score!

            They slap each other on the back and cheer each other on while the water dribbles into the kettle.

            It’s time to bring on some substitutes from the bench. I’ve been saving them for this moment. They run onto the pitch, heads held high as the supporters chant: wri-ting, wri-ting, wri-ting. I read the names on their shirts. Self-confidence is out in front and Belief is wearing number 8. Finally, Purpose enters the fray.

            Self-doubt attempts to kick Purpose in the shins. The referee steps onto the pitch, trying not to take sides but soon Self-doubt is given the red card. Self-confidence tackles the Inner Critic, running rings around him until he crumples into a heap.

            The scores are tied. We’ve spent so much time arguing that nothing has been achieved. Time for refreshments. I boil the kettle and watch the tea steep.  

            The referee announces extra time and I finally sit in my chair. I start writing. One-nil. Procrastination is losing. After a rocky start, today will be a win for writing.