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.

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15 thoughts on “My muse prefers bourbon, but a cuba libre will do

  1. Ha! I laughed the entire way through this. I mean, seriously, what is happening to us??

    I have a theory (she says as she comes up with longstanding theory on the fly). Your brain is subconsciously working through every plot hole, devising ingenious solutions and can’t be bothered with the pedestrian nature of the current life. The muse is hard at work and will not be distracted from the truly important duties at hand.

    Did you happen to see the Doctor Who season finale? If so, it’s like that. You’re peering out from a really amazing robot device that does not think shoes for breakfast is entirely unacceptable.

    • Whatever is happening, it’s happening all at once . . .

      I like your theory. It makes me look like a deep thinker instead of an idiot.

      I’m so far behind on Dr. Who I may never catch up, but I read the recaps through Tor.com — but that last sentence of yours is fascinating.

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