Rusty's Armory

Conversations with Mz Muze: Seeking Inspiration in the Shadows

Posted on December 3, 2023

I sat down with my coffee this morning, and there she was perched on the edge of my monitor. She had on her usual pink Rayon™ blouse and worn brown plaid skirt. From this angle, I could see the tops of her hose, and the white flesh squeezing out muffin-like. I looked away.

“Well, hello, Hemingway!” she greeted me with her usual sarcasm. “So you are sitting there waiting for inspiration, hey?”

Of all the muses there are in the world, I get a cranky, sarcastic but dated one. She was probably sixtyish or seventyish, with white hair that was overworked by her beautician, worn black pumps that really should be recycled, and as I said, a cheap pink blouse and tatty skirt.

“I was hoping that you had more to offer. I am so sick of the ‘me’ posts. They were necessary to keep the family and friends informed, but now the dust has settled, and we adapt to this new lifestyle. It is time to move on.”

She cocked her head inquisitively like she was a cute something, but the effect wasn’t what she thought it was. “So what do you want to write?” she asked.

“I dunno. Not fiction, for sure. And no more coffee posts. I suppose I could put my inbred curmudgeon to work by griping about stuff, aka Andy Rooney rants. But I just as quickly tire of them as just another form of ‘me’ posts.”

“What about writing about the political landscape?” she suggested brightly.

“I dunno. I am also weary of politicians and political writers. I know what the intellectuals think. I know what the political parties think. I know what the reporters think. But a bad case of the ‘I-don’t-cares’ has settled in,” I replied with a sigh.

“Poetry?”

“I’ve been doing some. It has been fun to exercise the poet in me, but again. I am weary of it.”

“Aging, death, and dying?”

I thought I caught a hint of sarcasm in her suggestion, so I shot back.

“You’ve been away, haven’t you!”

“Well, you haven’t been exactly quivering with excitement to see me,” she retorted.

“You haven’t been very helpful either. I enjoyed the silence!”

“All you enjoy is sloth! Look at you, curled up in a ball of misery and not even having the dignity to put clothes on!”

“I’ve been sick,” I whined.

She cocked one heavily penciled eyebrow, “Every day?”

“Well, some days aren’t so bad.”

“And your excuse on those days is?”

“I don’t have one. I just didn’t wanna write,” I bleated.

She leaned forward and replied, “Look. You need to give me something before I can work something up.”

“That’s what I am doing now—staring at the screen and waiting for inspiration. And pull your skirt down!” I snarled.

“You know you like it when I sit like this,” she replied with a flounce and a moue.

“Can we work on something else?” I said, trying to put the image out of my mind.