Brain Quest: IWSG

Sometimes insecurities wreak havoc with the creative process. Because of this, Alex J. Cavanaugh  founded the blogosphere's one-and-only Insecure Writer’s Support Group. We’re posting monthly, exposing our vulnerabilities and/or offering support to one another. Please check out Alex’s blog to visit others’ posts. It’s a group of kind-hearted bloggers/writers, authors and great people.  Join us, if you haven't already! All that's required is an insecurity or two hundred.
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I'm winded. I've been chasing down my Insecure Self for hours. She ran off, saying something about a messed up brain. I finally found her at the local Walmart, Toys and Games Aisle #16, with Cranium in hand. Here's what unfolded:

Robyn: There you are! I've been looking all over town for you. What are you doing?

Robyn's Insecure Self (IS): Nothin', just buying a new brain. I need one. I'm tapped out these days. No creative thoughts, ideas, no jokes. It's all gone. I'm afraid it'll never come back, so I'm buying this (pointing at Cranium).

Robyn: That's not a brain, silly. It's a game. I played it once. It's kind of abstract and took too much work. What was Hasbro thinking? Put it back! We're going home.

A heavily tattooed blue vested Walmart employee approaches. Walmart employee: Can I help you find something?

IS: Yes, I'm looking for a brain.

Walmart employee: You won't find one here. He turns and walks away.

IS: Oh. Thanks anyway.

Robyn yanks IS's arm. Come on, we're going back to Life by Chocolate. They head home.

IS: But I've lost it, I tell you. What if I can never make them laugh again? And I'm 100 or so pages into my book, and I just can't keep going. I want to take a year or decade off, without losing any time. It needs too much *bleep*n work! It's taking too *bleep*n long! All the rest of them are cranking out book after book. They're always in the creative zone. Sigh. I just want someone else's brain. Do you think Alex will give me half a braincell if I bake him brownies?

Robyn: It doesn't work that way.

IS: Then I'll toss in some Hot Tamales.

Robyn (sighing, exasperated): What is wrong with you-me?!

IS (sadly): Chocolate's gone.

Robyn (with scorn): I noticed.

Robyn and IS arrive home. Robyn types this post, as IS collapses under the computer desk into a pile of pathetic whiny neurotic angst infused insecure mushy mush. Robyn looks down at IS: Get a grip on yourself!

IS: Okay. She clasps onto Robyn's right ankle. Robyn rolls her eyes, while decisively pressing "Publish." Next, Robyn logs onto e-Bay to offer a melodramatic insecure self. Bidding starts at two cents.