... She Wrote

WE ARE NOT AMUSED!

prompt word 'perfect' ?? 24.12.2021

I didn't believe I had a muse. Ever. Other people discuss theirs; giving the most amazing descriptions, even though it appeared these elusive Muses run the gamut of sexes, ages, appearances, characters (and characteristics).

And although all agree their muse alternately charms, seduces, threatens, prods, tempts, beats them up emotionally, casts evil spells—(in fact, ANYTHING, to squeeze out perfect creativity, their  muses ALWAYS know the right buttons to press, especially that RED button of Destiny.

Recently heard descriptions started with the words--

'Mine is...'—

a) a raving monster with evil green face and long,  fangs dripping blood for teeth, whilst cracking a lengthy whip, or...

b) a willowy alabaster goddess in off-the-shoulder toga, with a wreath of pure gold bay leaves circling her head, or...

c) a Dwayne Johnson look-alike getting in the writer's face, totally blocking out his sun whilst reminding him what awaits when the fate of the world depends on meeting THAT deadline,or...

d) a Golden Retriever with the eternal greeting of a great drippy grin and wagging tail (or in MY case, is it my cuddle-bunny cat, stretching up on back tippy-toes to seduce me AWAY from my computer with a paw-swipe to my PJ pants and a love gaze from those incredible melted dark chocolate eyes, swimming with eternal devotion?)

Nice try, Missy-cat... but a top-up of your feed-bowl will woo you away quicker than you can think, 'I saw a mouse' (obviously, my Missy is  a mouser, not a muse-r!)

Elsewhere, I expressed this tragic lack of a muse, mournfully mouthing the immortal words—

"Speaking of muses, do y'all TRULY have one each?" and,

"Has anyone a spare?" and,

"Help!!—I don't believe I have one," using my most plaintive voice (although it WAS only my writing 'voice'. My physical one has far more mournful tones, if I REALLY try!)

Nobody has answered me yet. Well, not politely, anyway!

Further deep contemplation turned up some revealing information, like -- "I have my computer specs, my TV specs, and my (chemist) magnifying ones—but none of them have helped me see this un-amus-ing, unassuming helper (?) 'whatever IT is, that others call a muse."

Then I thought... even more deeply, loudly, meaningfully, -- 'Unless it's that crud who wakes me up with pain in my shoulder blades? Hmm and Grrr, etc.' When I finished with that tirade, I thought, Huh!! I'd always believed things were meant to be a pain in the arse (or neck, if you're polite), NOT the shoulder blades. (Of course, this was back in pre-diagnosis days... Life was SO much simpler then!

Back then, elsewhere, I wrote about a person who found 'she was able to effortlessly rotate her head to see all behind her, just like an owl. But what she saw emerging out of those troublesome shoulder blades DID surprise her.' WINGS? That's what all the aching had been? Two beautiful gossamer wings, their veining in a dazzling collection of iridescent rainbow hues. NOW she could FLY!

And she was forced into a different thinking mode... AND conclusion...

"Unquestionably, perfection comes in rare guises, " she was heard to blurt out.

As for me, AT LAST I've discovered my hidden muse(s)—TWO of them!! ...aha!

THE MUSES FROM THE MAUSOLEUM!

MOST importantly, these beauteous sylph-like manifestations had learned how to laugh at themselves... LOUDLY!!

Uhrr... me too!