Some people feel that their muse is an angelic inner voice who guides them through their journey. Others may have the kind of muse that gives them a strong sense of purpose or clarifies a confusing world. And some lucky sons of guns may have a muse that comes when bidden, dropping fully formed, well-developed ideas into their brains.
Not my bitch.
My muse is a party gal – a stay up all night, dangle her feet over the edge of the dark side, 100 miles an hour woman. She doesn’t gently sweep ideas my way – no, she jams them down my throat one after the other all the while laughing maniacally. It’s like a never-ending college hazing. And she arrives whenever the hell it pleases her.
When she comes out to play a number of regular life things go straight out the window – to the chagrin of my family this largely involves dish washing and laundry. Next on her hit list is any type of floor or surface cleaning. Finally she wraps up the party with a ‘no sleep ‘til the school bus arrives’ mentality. On the up side, she has a penchant for cooking.
She will lob all sorts of things my way – story ideas, poems, business plans, recipes – you name it and she has it – or at least part of it. Did I mention she’s a tease? Just enough lead in to get me going but not enough to make it smooth sailing.
Like any sane person, I often locked her in the closet. She would bang the walls to get out but I kept that door shut tight, letting a little of the wild child leak out through the keyhole but never daring to crack the door too much, lest the party really start. Over the years I would go through spurts and really let her have at it for a bit but after a few weeks it would get too scary trying to balance my regular obligations with her irreverent spirit and complete inability to tell time and so back in the closet she would go.
Until two weeks ago when I was given a gift. It’s just not a party without gifts. And what I unwrapped is time by myself. Not a stolen few minutes here or there, but hours and hours stacked one upon the other. Precious hours that may not be there tomorrow, but that I live in today. And with that gift my muse came barreling out of the closet hell-bent on making up for lost time.
So here comes the party……