{May 11, 2013}   The Continuing Adventures Of Me And My Unamused Muse

“Where the hell are you dammit?”
I poke my head into every room in the house looking for her. Or is it Her? Whatever. Either way she’s missing and I can’t find her.
“Come out come out wherever you are,” I try a sing-songie voice hoping to appeal to her sense of, um, hearing sing-songie voices.
No luck.
She’s gone. I think.
I check the backyard thoroughly, even going so far as to look underneath the pool cover. The water looks cold, murky, dirty, and full of leaves and for a moment I think I see her down at the bottom but it’s just some tree limbs.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a dead bird floats by.
She may not be here now but the bird carcass lets me know she was here, however briefly.
Back into the house for another hunt. She has to be here somewhere. Why would she leave me? It’s not like I’ve been cruel to her. Maybe I’ve been a little inattentive lately but she’s always on my mind.
“You’re always with me.” I told her this so many times, I don’t understand why she needs constant reassurance. It’s like she doesn’t believe a word I say.
I mentally count up all the ways I love her and still she stays away.
I close my eyes so tightly white spots appear in my head yet I can’t even picture her hard as I try.
“Please don’t be gone forever.” I whisper in case she’s around to hear me, she hates when I beg.
“Don’t leave me.” My mouth forms the words soundlessly.
I’m nothing without my muse.
I’m so freaked out I don’t notice her clinging to the ceiling above me Spiderman-style looking down at me with her patented bored-now expression.
“Sit down and shut up Missy, it’s time for a little talk, the kind where I talk and you listen. While shutting up.”
This is how my muse talks to me.
No respect at all. She says I have to earn it or some stupid shit like that. Like I have nothing else to do but earn respect from my muse.
That’s one of the things that really pisses her off, my excessive disregard for capitalization and proper grammar.
Especially the part where I don’t always give her a capital ‘M’. She thinks by using a small ‘m’ I’m reducing her, like I’m not recognizing her importance.
Also, she thinks it’s rude.
Ok I admit sometimes I do it just to piss her off but mostly, I really don’t think about it.
That pisses her off even more.
“You’re not gonna get out of this by making excuses and trying to be all cutesy or whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing. I’m where it all comes from Missy. I wrote the book on it. So to speak.”
She laughs in this really cool way, all husky and sexy, like she holds the Keys To The Kingdom and every secret contained within.
She wasn’t laughing now. She looked…I can’t even describe it….
“Of course you can’t describe it idiot-girl, that’s part of the point. How ’bout, oh, I don’t know, paying attention!”
That got my attention, she had shrill down perfectly.
After a good solid five-minute stare-off, (she won, lets move on) she said one word.
“Focus, bitch.”
OK,two words,but ‘bitch’ doesn’t count,that’s an endearment coming from her.
“Have a million different things started, you’re all over the place! Scattered! Djinn, Vampires, Apocalypse, Empaths, Resurrected-Supernatural-Dogs,pick a road and walk it!”
I hate when she’s right.
“And I’m always right,right?”
I try to ignore her by pecking at my keyboard.
“I said,right?” She’s nothing if not persistent.
“Why are you still talking?” I ask her as I continue to type.
“Because you still aren’t listening.”
She’s decided I’m a loser and I’m inclined to agree with her. I won’t tell her that though.
“Duh. You don’t have to tell me anything, remember? I already know everything before you even think it. Because why?”
“Because you’re a pain in the ass who lives in my head?”
The slap she gives me upside my very own real live head stings.
“Wrong answer nitwit, “she stands behind me leaning over my shoulder to read the words I’m writing.
“Once more with a little bit of effort,” she’s in my ear, her whisper sounds amplified, like somebody pushed the reverb button way past eleven.
Once again I try to ignore her and keep on typing.
“I SAID,” she stops with an intentional dramatic pause, waiting for me to pay attention. I keep on writing and she huffs, rolls her eyes, then flicks my left earlobe.
“OW! That hurt! Finger-flicker!”
“Got your attention though didn’t I,” she sits herself right down on my laptop, more of a hover than a sit.
“You’re in my way, c’mon, move, I can’t see the screen,” it’s taking all I have to keep from screeching like a banshee. Hmm, banshees….
“Don’t you even think of starting something new! Have you heard one word I’ve said?”
“Actually, I heard every word you said. I’m ignoring you.”
“Well that’s obvious, c’mon, just say it once and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
She thinks I don’t know she’s got her fingers crossed.
But I play along anyway.
“You are my Great and Wonderful Muse, from whom all ideas flow, the creator of all my thoughts. Ok?”
She grins, “that’ll work for now. Now about those banshees…”
“Wait a minute, you did not just suggest I start yet another story.”
I literally scratch my head in confusion.
I always thought that was just one of those phrases writers use to convey a bunch of stuff in half a sentence but apparently, if a person is baffled enough, head-scratching really does come into play.
Huh. Weird.
“Moi?” She bats her baby-blues all innocent-like. She’s really good playing the role. Where was she when I was in theater class?
“You’re supposed to be helping me, inspiring me and shit, isn’t that like the definition of ‘muse’? And how come you’re always busting my balls? I don’t even have balls, I’m a damn girl! It’s like you exist just to drive me bonkers. See what I mean? Bonkers? You made me say that!”
I point my index finger at her like I’m in some Victorian Murder Mystery and I just solved the crime.
“You! It’s all your fault!”
I have to give her credit, she can wear a blank look on her face better than a statue. She doesn’t even blink, just stares at me all innocent and serene.
“Say something!”
My shouting doesn’t move my muse.
My muse remains unmoved.
Moveless, if you will, and without expression.
Except for the long suffering look of an exasperated put-upon unappreciated underused muse.
I mean Muse.
She smiles at me bright enough to rival the sun, blue eyes dancing with delight at my capitalizing her ‘M’ in Muse.
I guess even Muses like to get a little pat on the head once in awhile too, just like us regular folks.
And I had been ignoring my Muse lately.
“Lately? Your brain is more cluttered than those Extreme Hoarder-tv-people! You better focus missy, time’s a’wasting.”
“I thought we decided on banshees?”
My Muse was *not* amused
“I got nothing.”
I was met by silence at these words.
“Fuck you,” I mutter under my breath and she hears this. But of course, she hears everything.
“You’re cute when you’re grasping at straws,” she struts across the room and looks out the window. “You can’t get there from here, but you already know that.”
“Why is it you’re so good at stating the obvious,” I almost-whine.
“I’m good at everything chica.”
She says nothing after this for a good two minutes, just stares blankly at the middle of my forehead.
When I open my mouth to say something she taps her foot impatiently and my words freeze in my throat.
“You always fall for the bullshit,” and she sounds almost embarrassed as she speaks.
“How do you think I feel.” I ask the air around me.
She’s gone again like fog. Just gone.
A small piece of paper drifts down like feathers falling from a fallen angels wing.
Go to your room, it says.
“I don’t have one,” I remind the heavens as the words bleed off the page.


Renard Moreau says:

[ Laughs ] Another nice one!

Yay! You know how bitchy and annoying those damn muses can be but they sure are a necessary evil! This one’s a real shit-stirrer, and she’s suddenly decided to get my ass in gear so much so my laptop keeps accusing me of over-abuse but, I kinda love her šŸ˜‰

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