Other Lives. Further Scenes From a Pagan Household

Dear Muse,
You are a horrible fickle b*tch. You had nothing to say to me for months and now? Now? Last night when I had to be asleep to be up early to nanny you couldn’t shut up for hours about a story I haven’t touched in years.
I hate you. I love you. I’ll thank you tomorrow.

I'm posting more and going somewhat more off track from what this blog is "supposed" to be about, something I myself scold about but. Penelope has been delightfully off the rails lately which has endeared her to me a great deal.

As y'all know, I is a riter. But I get distracted. Gordon is patient. He should consider some kind of high power cat herding career for his next move. But finally even he had enough of my squirrely writer ways and scolded from across the pond to say something like Darling, it doesn't matter which you pick. But write something and stick to it damn it. I'm supposed to be writing a kitchen witch book as you know. I set deadlines and word counts and then just sort of started chasing moths. I started focusing on my crafting and even going to the gym to dodge it.

But. She sneaks up on you. I needed to get up early this morning to herd my tiny charge who has now learned to throw toys but smiles while doing so, so I did what any chick would do - I went to the gym (*dodge*), took an extra xanax (*double dodge*) and a shot of vodka before bed (*suuuuuuuper dodge*). I was curled into bed with Jow and all of a sudden, I heard her. She was insistent. I told her to shut the fuck up as she's been ignoring me for months so I'm ignoring her now and I had work the next day, damn it. She didn't care. She never does. I try to explain work as an orderly concept of punching the clock and getting things done and getting paid for it regardless to inspiration but she rolled her eyes, smelling of tequila, last night's club makeup still smeared all over her. I have a theory. Remember that story you wrote like way more words than you ever have? But it sort of faltered and you didn't touch it for years? You didn't know what to do with her either, your heroine was unlikable in a Bella Swan kind of way before there was a Bella Swan? There were even two boys like in Those Books sort of? I fixed it. You're welcome. Meet Anna. Between my muse and Anna [a new character, the first time it's ever happened like that honestly], I was tossing and turning for hours and generally driving poor Jow crazy until I gave up and stumbled into the office and scribbled down some notes in the dark and tried to get them both to shut up already until I slept fitfully for a few hours.l

I got up and went to work, glad that my tiny charge can't talk yet. My arms were killing me from the gym and the baby. I stumbled home trying to jazz myself up for cooking and house cleaning but Jow had other plans. He enticed me into bed and to take my bra off and put on comfy 'jamas. Once we were lying in bed bullshitting about our days I knew there was no hope of any productivity which was only further proved by Jow seductively whispering that we could clean the house this weekend and order Chinese food. Since that was established and neither of us had slept (if I can't sleep, he can't sleep), I decided to share with him my encounter with my muse and Anna though I got shy feeling like it was a brilliant idea I had when drunk that wasn't so brilliant in the daylight. As we talked more about it and he got more interested, he said I needed to write this. And I realize I do, it's a burning in the blood now fueled by exhaustion. Of course, today I learned about my Florence's new song which led to this conversation:

Me (points to the screen): Why don't I have a work space like this?
Jow (patiently): You have the office.
Me: But . . .it's an office. I want creative romance!
Jow: She's a musician.
Me: She writes things too! It shows it right here! Plus I want candelabras and fancy water bottles. I concede I don't get the white frilly dress to flounce around in.
Jow: We'll invest in . . .candelabras?
Me: I want to go to thrift stores and get teacups and candelabras for next to nothing like MsDirty's and Italics' thrift store runs.
Jow: Okay.

So . . .it's on. Starting tomorrow, this is my project. But for now I need to cede the computer to Jow's Book Removal Wednesday.

End times, folks.