Searching for my muse

Have you seen her? Every time she strikes me it seems to be at the worst possible time. I could be in the middle of the highway going 70 (yes it’s legal) or in the middle of the shower. I could be lying down in bed with a migraine or trying to sing the kids to sleep. She whacks me over the head with her insanely heavy sledgehammer of glitter and whispers words in my ears and I can’t get to a media quick enough to get them down. Or she sends one train of though crashing onto the track of another and it causes all the words to melt and crash and snowball and I don’t know what I am thinking anymore. I want to scream. I want to yell. I want to cry. I want to shout from the rooftops. I go to the bookstores and read the backs of the novels. I could do that. I know I can. But my muse, she is elusive. She gives me ideas but does not let me finish the thought. She keeps that wall up in my head and won’t let it go down. She defines me. I just want to write and write and write. And the stream of thought can’t be done. You give me a prompt, or inspiration, or let me collaborate and we can make big things. But sit me alone in front of a computer screen an the cursor continues to blink at me. It seems to flicker faster, angrier, because she sits there, sipping tea. She smirks at me, raises her eyebrow, challenges me to attack….but I am at a loss for words.

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