P. Zilla stomped her foot heavily onto the ground, the floor shook a little as did the lampshade in the living room of the people beneath. “Damn it!” she roared “How the fiddelsticks am I supposed to get a definition straight, if I myself am not able to express coherently what I want to say?! Roar!!!!!”A cold chill grabbed the people of beneath making their hairs stand upright. “We really should move honey.”
“Oh monster that I am
I not able to grasp
That should be the last
I cannot grasp?”
P. Zilla lived under the impression that poems always had to rhyme else she did not consider them poems. Thus her poetry hardly ever made sense.
“What are you talking about? Or shall I say screaming? If you continue like this our tenants will move out and that would be the 5th couple this month!! Nothing we could afford considering your joke of a scholarship and all the student loans we have to pay back!”
Dr. J was very upset by now. He had not slept well in a couple of nights, as P. Zilla was thundering back and forth the flat pondering, mulling, sulking, and screaming ‘Aha’. The ladder only very rarely though and only to start pondering again. It was not easy living with a PhDzilla but he loved her dearly, she was his special monster so he sighed in resignation and turned back to his laptop to read the newest news.
“I know what happens. I go through all the stages of a creative process before I can write about it! Eureka!!! Well, not eureka but at least I will be able to speak of experience. Ha ha … no no no that is not right either.” Silent brooding followed this eruption.“You don’t think she will start rhyming again honey?” “I would not mind it as much as the singing darling.” The people of beneath were worried. They decided next time they would move into the top floor of a tenement, and if this meant carrying all the shopping bags up, all the stairs then so it be. They even thought of installing a trampoline and see how this would feel, jumping on other people’s heads instead of being jumped onto. So!
“Method I need a method!” grumbling P. Zilla threw papers about and books and folders and pens and what not. ‘Maybe,’ she thought, ‘maybe, if I just keep reading it will make click?’
“Hey doc?” P. Zilla said.
A half resigned and half hopeful
“Hu?” came as answer.
“Do you think, if I just keep on chewing books it will make click?”
“What do you mean by ‘click’ my dear?”
“Well, you know … the thing, the point that one reaches. When you think and think and you can literally feel the back of your head working away, but you cannot ask the back of your head what it is working away on, till one day it makes ‘click’?”
“I cannot see how eating up books will help you my dear, safe increasing the library fines AGAIN, not to mention all the explanation I have to give about the teeth marks on the books.”
“Oh doc, you are not listening! I did not mean eating books I meant reading them!!!! You know as a strategy. I tried everything to access the back of my head but nothing works so maybe keeping on reading will help? I could also try to express my thoughts in dance or painting?”
“No!!!!” he had answered too quickly, far too quickly!!! PhDzilla started turning colours her eyes changed into a crimson shade. The doctor prepared for a huge outburst of monstrosities possibly some flame breathing; he decided to direct the flames towards the old wardrobe he always wanted to get rid off. As an experienced expert in PhDzillas he looked rather calmly into the face of the monster.
“Alright then. I will be off reading.” P. Zilla turned around still steaming but heading towards her office without an outbreak.
That was new and left the doctor rather startled, standing in front of the ugly wardrobe.
Will the doctor manage to get rid of the wardrobe? Will P. Zilla be able to speak to the back of her head? Will the tenants move into a top floor flat and buy a trampoline? Well, what do I know?