My muse prefers bourbon, but a cuba libre will do

Acorns--Nature's Miracle Food

I’ve been ditzing along today, my mind clearly elsewhere.

I found a banana in my purse this afternoon.  I think I was supposed to give it to Sunny this morning for breakfast on my way out.

The morning commute was supposed to be a breeze, since I’m off chauffeur duty until Janie is better, but it  took just as long, because I drove to her school anyway.  I realized this before I stopped at the door and told her to have a fun day—but only just.

I wore my walking shoes to work so my nice flats wouldn’t get wet . . . and left the nice flats on the bed.  Unless I gave them to Sunny for breakfast.

Work was fine, except I kept sticking pencils behind my right ear, as is my unbreakable habit, but this time without removing the old ones.  I had two golf pencils, a standard yellow, and a Tinker Belle* balanced without realizing** before I jabbed in the final one—it was neon green—and sent all of them flying behind me.

On the way home, I made another loop around Janie’s school, called myself an idiot and went home, without picking up her homework.

Once I arrived home, Janie and Sunny told me, several times, they wanted macaroni and cheese for dinner—Tuesday evening is kids’ choice—which is how I ended up having a bowl of Disney Princess soup, as I opened the can while the macaroni was cooking, congratulating myself on my efficiency.

And when I put the remainder of the soup away for someone’s lunch tomorrow, I didn’t notice the crack in the rubbermaid container. I did notice the puddle of soup on the floor, but only because I stepped in it.***  It was cold.  There were noodles.

And here I am.

Wherever my brain is, I hope it’s buying my muse a drink, because I’ve got a few scenes I need to work on tonight, and it would be nice if she were disposed to lend me a hand.

Not necessary, but nice.

Now, where’s my pencil?


*Libraries accumulate the oddest collections of pencils.  I think we all become pencil and pen thieves in subconscious rebellion against those awful little golf pencil things that appear to be a requisite.

**It helps to have an earring or two high up along the rim.

***Yeah, I started the mop-up with my sock—it was already wet.