Conversations with My Muse: Anonymity and Affirmation

 

The following is a conversation I had with my muse. The words in italics are hers.

EXCUSE ME! I believe I had my hand on that watermelon first!

Oh, I’m sorry — here, take it.

Thank– OH MY GOD, IT’S YOU!

Shhhhh! Please, don’t…

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN???????

Be quiet! People are starting to stare…

Let them, and give me a hug first!

Really, I beg of you, please tone it down..

Okay, sorry….

That’s better, thanks.

I just can’t believe you’re back…and in the middle of the produce department, thumping watermelons, even.

Well, you know me – ADPB girl.

True. So, let me take a look at you. Take a twirl for me.

I’d rather not.

Aw come on, nobody knows who you are, and I doubt anyone is thinking anything other than we’re two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while.

Well, put that way…okay

Okay, I understand the long skirt..some habits are hard to break, huh? But, I need a little explanation here…what the hell is going on with the wig, dark sunglasses and black beret?

I’m in disguise.

Disguise? Oh hell…..you’re still on the run, aren’t you?

Yes.

Why??? Didn’t I tell you to turn yourself in?

Well, about that…

Oh, this should be good. Go ahead, I’m listening.

I was heading to Italy, fully intending on turning myself in, when “it” happened. Or, I should say “he” happened.

Why am I not surprised by this? Pony up — who is the “he” in this flimsy excuse?

Oh my god Nerd, you should see him! He is sooooooo cute!

Here we go again….lemme guess — are we 17 today? 22? I can’t tell behind the sunglasses and fake bobbed wig.

Hey, I’m an adult and that’s all you need to know. You really shouldn’t be so judgmental, ya know.

That’s my job, to keep you in line.

Since when?

Since I hired you. You work for me.

And exactly how much am I being paid for this little “deal” we’ve swung with each other? What IS my cut? Cuz, I’m still waiting for that…

Well, it just so happens that you and I are “getting published”! Ha!

No kidding????? When did all this happen?

While you were gallavanting around the globe, and picking up strange men.

Oh my God–that reminds me, I still haven’t told you about my new guy!

This “unfocused” behavior is kinda starting to piss me off, muse. Can we please stay on topic for ONCE?

Well, sure…um, what is the topic?

Siggggggh…

Oooh, while you’re doing your deep breathing exercises, let me tell you about my new guy. I think this could be “the one”.

You’re not gonna let this one go until you’ve gushed all about him, are you?

He’s my life now.

That’s creepy sounding.

Well….as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me with all this talk about “being published”, I met him en route to Italy. I was coming down the coast of Russia, veered to the right, over Yugoslavia when BINGO! I saw him.

Yugoslavia? What part?

Croatia. What a beautiful country, by the way.

Yes, I know. I’ve got in laws from that area. Zagreb, if I remember correctly.

Cool! So you know how dreamy the men are? I just love brown eyes…it’s like looking into pools of liquid chocolate. I just want to fall in and lap him all up.

Slow down there, chickie. We’re still in public, ya know.

I can always go stick my head in the frozen foods department.

That might work. Just don’t leave any butt prints on the ice cream containers. The staff tends to frown on that type of behavior.

I would assume so.

Okay, so let me make sure we have our stories straight, okay?

Yep, but first — do you know where I can find the following items: Feta cheese, Romaine lettuce, garlic and olive oil?

Mmmm, sounds like a Greek salad to me.

But of course, what else would I make for my man?

Ever try Saganaki?

What’s that? It sounds yummy…

Flaming cheese. It’s a real “celebratory” food — you pan fry a coated piece of cheese in olive oil, put a little brandy in it, take it to the table, light it and, at the top of your voice, yell “OPA!” while trying not to set your eyebrows on fire at the same time. Then, douse the flames with a half of a lemon squeezed over the top. It is to DIE FOR.

Fire? You trust me around flames?

Good point, stick to the salad.

So, are we done here? My man is waiting for me back at our place.

You’re living together????

Not yet. We’ve only been dating for a week now.

Ah.

If things work out, I’m going to suggest we rent a place together somewhere in Switzerland.

Why Switzerland of all places?

Netural territory. The law can’t touch me there.

Ah…So I am assuming you’re perfectly okay with being a professional fugitive, always on the move?

Beats the alternative.

And what would the “alternative” to being a fugitive exactly be?

Being stuck with the same house, same job, same city, same spouse, same kids, year after year, waiting for death to release you from life’s dull grasp.

Wow, that’s harsh. I totally disagree.

I tell it like it is. And one final thing…

What’s that?

Those shorts do make your ass look a little too big.

Leave now, before I alert security.

My Muse is MPD, We Think

Well, this is fascinating. My muse has recently been diagnosed with a new disorder. It seems she has a “slight” case of MPD – Multiple Personality Disorder. This could explain her wildly fluctuating behavior and speech patterns. I’ve suspected something for a little while, but going back through the transcripts of previous conversations, I realize now I was talking to several different “people” –sometimes all at once.

I was finally able to connect the dots when, out of the blue, “Trudy” actually took the Marlboro ciggy out of her mouth and popped in a wad of Double Bubble bubble gum — a signal that something was up.  Of course, Trudy was still being as belligerent and orny as ever — between bubbles, she was muttering such semi-incoherent phrases as “Peach cobbler, bitch!” and “Kiss my ass, state trooper boy”.

No reason for such rude behavior, honestly. I’ve tried to talk with Trudy and tell her how inappropriate her comments can be at times, but last time I did it, she threatened to “put my black belt to the test”. Since she carries a switchblade and a 9 mm in the cab of her semi, I declined her invitation to an ass-kicking and spent most of the next half hour “talking her down” from whatever menopausal moment she was having.

But the bubble gum — so out of character for her. That’s when it hit me — that wasn’t Trudy. Gone was the 5’2″, 150 lb lesbian truck driver with the smoker’s cough, missing upper teeth, leathered skin and thinning gray hair. Sure, she was still dressed in her typical trucker uniform – red flannel shirt over a “wifebeater” T, dirty jeans and loggerhead boots, but that wasn’t the Trudy I knew and admired for her open honesty and willingness to put me in my proper place. Oh no, this person in front of me was much, much younger. I had to get a good look at her.

I say “her” because honestly, men don’t chew and snap their gum that way. Maybe the person who stole Trudy’s spotlight is gay — I don’t know and really don’t care.  That’s between them. I’m just here for the entertainment factor anyways. But still, something told me this new character was a lot younger, and definitely less “street smart” as Trudy.

I sense a naivete that can only be matched by the stupidity of youth. So, I am going to go out on a limb and say I was talking to a 17 year old cheerleader. Some of the clues? Well, the constant gum chewing — like watching a cow standing in the field, vapidly staring at the barn, chewing its cud. And the hair twirling — annoying as hell. The constant twirling of the index finger around the pony tail. Leave your hair alone, dammit!

But the final clue? Every other word out of this one’s mouth was either “like” or “whatever”. I hate having to spend a moment of my time listening to my beloved language get slaughtered. I try to keep our conversations short. On the other hand, it is fun to mess with youth. I can tell her practically anything, and she’ll believe it. Or at least crinkle her cute little button nose, lean her head to the side and in her high pitched, annoyingly nasaly voice, giggle “Oh my god, that’s so, like, funny!”

She does like to hang on every word of mine. She also likes to hang on every high school football player too. I see a teenage pregnancy in her future if she doesn’t pull her shit together soon and stop acting like such a slut. I’ve checked her Facebook,and she’s gathering a long list of “friends”, most of whom probably aren’t aware she’s still underage. Someone’s going to get in real trouble if they don’t watch out. Honestly, my “mother-daughter muse” talks we’ve had seem to go over her head. This whole “I’m immortal” thing is being wasted on her youth, I have decided.

There is one other personality I’ve had the pleasure to meet who is by far my running favorite. Oh for the days in my twenties when I was still willing to meet the world head on and tackle life’s mysteries! She’s a real go-getter this one. She’s everything I never was, which is why I love her so much. She’s twenty-something (somewhere between 22-25) and just does what she wants, to hell with the circumstances. She spent some time over in Italy with the entire national soccer team. She won’t tell me “exactly” what happened – but I sense a few unconventional sex practices took place. She and her sister muse — Erato– probably found a supply of Mazola, whipped cream, feathers and satin laced handcuffs and had themselves a party. I bet she never asked for names.

She’s a bit of a gold digger, and continues to find a long list of men to supply her with all the latest technological gadgets to keep her on her eventual path to self-destruction. Of course it doesn’t hurt to have a model’s face on a perfect body devoid of wrinkles and the after-effects of childbirth and age-related gravity. She’s happy to tell everyone that “her boobs still point to Orion” (She’s Greek, so of course she had to get that shout out in there). Even though I love her, she does need to get her ego in check. There will always be someone coming up behind her who is prettier, thinner and more desirable. She just doesn’t know it yet. Ahh, youth.

That’s it for roll call. I continue to have conversations with my muse (now “muses”) and some days, I’ll find myself having to change my own behavior based on who decides to show up. Honestly, I like the mystery of it all. It’s so, like, awesome. Unless, of course, the Sandman shows up. He’s kind of a douche bag towards me. I bet he and Justin Bieber are friends.