In Which the Author Castigates His Muse
21 Dec
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Now, look, you.
You’ve got a lot of goddamn gall knocking on the metaphorical door while I’m in this headspace. Two nights with little sleep; two days in which libations were enjoyed vigorously, and now you show up with ideas in hand.
I call shenanigans, ma’am. I truly do.
You never drift by when I am sitting, waiting, receptive, staring at a blank screen gritting my teeth with effort, willing the words to manifest. Oh no. You show up when I’m relaxing on the couch after an afternoon of gluttonous activities, while I am sinking into a torpor.
Not tonight, dear. I have a headache.
Bah. You’d better be here when I wake up.









