“You really are trying too hard,” I said to myself,
“Grasping at words you’d never actually use
in real conversation. People who know you
are going to see straight through your pretentious bullshit.”
“Perhaps,” I replied. “Perhaps.”
“Ha! Perhaps! Just last Friday you spent over an hour
desperately trying to cram quixotic into a sentence,
because you thought it sounded cool!
Don’t even get me started on the whole empyreal incident.
And just now, did you or did you not actually consider changing
the title of this poem from Trying Too Hard to
A Disjointed Discourse with a Vexatious Ego? Jesus, man, seriously…”
I sigh. “You have a point, I suppose…
But in my defense, quixotic is a cool word.”
“Sure, sure, it sounds cool. And, considering your recent writing,
I’d say it’s a fairly accurate description.”
“Thank you. Perhaps you are just being a little overly captious?”
A defeated shake of the head.
“Alright. Have at it.
But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The Truth About Tigers 
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