Muse on a Milk Carton

It's hard to say when it happens but everyone that ever even pretends to be creative has had it happen at least one time or another. Muse takes a vacation. The worst of it is you never know if it's a long weekend or a full on "piss off loser, I'm through with you" situation. So you're stuck, uninspired, unmotivated you wander about accomplishing nothing and hating yourself for it. Oh sure, there is the occasional Muse spotting. You think you see her speed through an intersection or just rounding a corner ahead of you at the local mall and you rush home and fire up the computer, drag out the sketchpad or squeeze out a long line of hopeful cadmium red onto the pallet..... then you sit, keys on home row, charcoal at the ready, $26 Windsor newton sable filbert brush (that you bought as a sort of muse marital aid last time the bitch left you) loaded for bear and you realize that what you actually saw was some cross dressing math teacher instead of your one true love. You may have lost your creativity but you've not lost your ability to recognize shit when you see it, and since she left town you've been a fecal factory to rival the largest hog farm.

Now you're all alone with only the memories of your time with her. Those times when ideas streamed in a constant flood through you. When every situation was the catalyst for a hundred new ideas. She was good to you, she gave and gave and you thought unselfishly so, but that wasn't the truth. When you failed to give her the one thing she longed for she left to find another lover, one that would supply the one thing she desired most of all; for you to use the gift that she had given. I lament what I have wasted, what gifts I have cast aside in my youth. I acted as if she were an unending font of creativity. I used her when it suited me and ignored her prodding all other times. Muse was my own personal whore, one so good she could make a dead man cum. Now I can't even get it up any more.

How much was lost to me, to us in that time. I'm not implying that I would of found a cure for cancer had I just spent a bit more time with the drawing pad or that world hunger would of been stated by one of my witty posts, but surely a book or two or a painting was lost to the fecal pool of lost thoughts. Of course I'll never know what could of been, but I still hope for the return of Muse and her arousing embrace to see what might still be.

So, while I wait for Muse's return I can only act as if she were still here, doing what I think she would have me do if she were still softly whispering in my ear and hope that one day she'll see I still need her and return to be my inspiration again. Until then we, you as reader and me as writer have our own suffering to do. Pray for a speedy reconciliation.