It Could get Noisy...

She's back...my muse.  I made a place for her in the bed beside me and together we peered at the bluish cast emanating from the screen of my laptop.  She moved in close; her exotic scent, intoxicating and delicious, began to work its power within me.  Moving soft, dewy lips nearer my ear, she had only to breathe one word and she owned me once again.  "Baby...."

Parts of me always respond to her, both physically and intellectually.  She likes that about me, and I'm sure that's why she's back.  I don't know where she's been, but I suspect she didn't care for my choice of lovers with this last one.  Perhaps she was lurking, torturing me with the desire to write, yet pulling back before I could grab on and drag her close.

She returned shortly after the bulging shoebox of mementos, the last remnants of my journey alongside him, was snatched up in a quiet, tear-stained rage and evicted, along with his hold over me, to the basement storage unit.  I can still feel it there, but my muse has shifted between it and I, blocking all its power and claiming me for her own again.  How I've missed her.  My Penelope.  I've only managed to choke out my column and a few dispassionate articles every month in her absence.

Now the fun begins...

Penelope

She came to me last night - after a postponement of coital release left me bouncing off the walls - and raked her fingernails down my back.  Mmmmm...delicious.  It's been too long, my muse.  Where have you been?

Advice from a Friend

Explore my pain.  A fellow writer friend suggests I do that.  Good plan, I'm thinking.  The other methods I've employed, such as slamming them down and covering them up with all manner of debris, or candy-coating them beneath the facade of a positive exterior are certainly not working for me.  What's that pearl of wisdom now bonking at my cranium?  Repeating the same actions expecting different results...  Yeah.  Crazy.

I've been wrestling with writer's block for some time now.  My current scapegoat is the narcissistic train wreck of a lover that I've just recently unloaded.  The idea is not entirely without merit, really.  He did suck just about every creative instinct out of me in his perpetual lust for my soul.  Dramatic?  Perhaps.  However, the emotional turmoil that constituted our relationship was a bit of a covert tragedy.  I, the one who professes to despise drama managed to let one slip under my radar.  I live, I learn.  And learn.  And learn.

My friend, the one with the sage advice, is onto something here...as I suspect he frequently is.  He and I are often diametrically opposed in our approach to life, and while that can generally lead to conflict in most friendships it tends to solidify ours.  I think mutual respect is the key.  While our occasional clash of wills may inspire one to spit out some colloquial idiom at the other, we always manage to get something really chewy out of the exchange.  Not necessarily a love/hate situation, but just one where we find each other exasperatingly fascinating.  Life is so much richer with him in it, of that much I am certain.

Thanks, my friend.  I think it's already working.