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My Muse is on Crack
It is 11:30 p.m. My body still thinks it's 10:30, and it doesn't matter because I should have had my proposal written hours ago.
It's not that I don't have any ideas. I am getting tons of ideas about writing about language as a cultural indicator and my experiences as various kinds of writers. I am also getting tons of ideas about a story I want to write about a girl named Andi who drives a pickup truck and a poem that will be a sequel to my Terpsichore and I've come up with several insights into the characters of the Tenchi Muyo Anime series. I have run around my house singing and coming up with new song ideas, some of which are parodies.
This is the first remotely coherent thing I have managed to be able to make myself sit down and write in a few days.
My muse is on crack.
She has wakened from her winter slumber and boy is she pissed off that it's April already and it's still not warm enough. She is running and jumping and screaming all over my brain like a child that has been kept indoors too long.
"Tenchi Muyo!" she screams. "Andrea Brand!" "Rosalind!" "Vivisection!" "Marxists suck!" "I AM NOT A FUCKING TREE!!!!!!!" she cries, and gives me visions of creative demises I could inflict upon the so-called educators that tried to make me see her that way, or at least write about said demises.
I look at my muse and the only thing I can think of saying is, "Why is your name Terpsichore when I am a writer and not a dancer?"
"I want chocolate!" she answers me, jumping up and down on the bed. "I want to write about Andi!I want you to write a poem about me and if you put a Marxist in it I'll hurt you! Unless I getto beat him up! YAAAAAAAAY!" she cries, spinning around her head with her arms spread wide like a little boy playing airplane. "VROOOOOOM!"
"I think Kiyone and Mihoshi should be partners, if you know what I mean," she says, winking and nudging me in the ribs.
I protest, "But we didn't make up those characters. They belong to someone else."
"EVERYTHING IS MINE!" she cries. "DO YOU THINK I WORK FOR YOU ALONE?" she yells."BY APOLLO, THERE'S ONLY FUCKING NINE OF US, DONTCHA KNOW?" I decide to drop the subject.
'Chore runs around the room singing. "I don't wanna be another mystery, oh no." She stops and stares at me. "Why can't you write songs as cool as that?"
I cross my arms at her. "Why indeed." She blushes. I use the brief moment of quiet to remind her, "We are supposed to be working on an assignment for a class. We need to wow the class with some brilliant answers. And a brilliant paper idea." I narrow my eyes. "Before tomorrow morning."
Terpsichore pouts. She's kind of cute; her hair is falling into her face. She stamps. "I don't wanna," she says.
I sigh. "Neither do I. But we kinda should."
"We could work on the Andi story. I got a great beginning..."
I attempt to raise an eyebrow at her. It doesn't quite work, but I have enough of the disgruntled history teacher genes in me to at least deliver the sentiment. She sighs. "I hate this."
"Come on, 'Chore, we'll have fun with it."
She stares at me straight on. "We will not."
I sigh. "If we don't write this, we can't write anything else tonight."
She looks at me for a long time. I add, "You were doing a good job on the paper proposal earlier. We were really getting somewhere with the personal experience arc..."
Her eyes brighten slightly. "It's not exactly my cup of tea," she says, "or TEA! for that matter." She sighs. "But it's better than nothing."
She jumps off the bed and whaps me in the head. "Okay!" she says. "This is finished. Let's getto work." She begins to jump and crawl all over my class notes. "C'mon, let's go! Pay attention, for Gaia's sake!What's wrong with you, anyway, ADD girl?"