I feel it’s time to honour my Muse. Like all creative people I have a Muse. I may also suffer from delusions of grandeur but that is best left up to the mental health professionals to decide.
Miss Muse is a delightful soul, she is also extremely annoying, impatient and tends to cost me a lot of money. However, I do appreciate her visits.
Out of nowhere and, more often than not, at the most inconvenient times she pops in for a visit. At this point my life gets turned upside down and normality disappears out the window. Suddenly there is this idea about a new creative project and so the work begins.
With all new ideas there is much planning to be done. There are also many changes of plan as Miss Muse doesn’t quite understand that reality has to be taken in to account. The Laws of Gravity and Time don’t seem to feature in her world, apparently there anything is possible. It must be a great place to live.
Back to the drawing board. It’s great to have these lovely ideas but putting them in to practice necessitates planning, money and patience. Now, I can’t draw a straight line, literally or figuratively, so out comes the rulers, pens, pencils and most importantly the eraser. The sketching begins, and ends, and begins, and ends. And so, on it goes. After a while, with much tut-tut and shaking of head from Miss Muse, who can’t actually do anything other than criticize, all the pieces of paper with my carefully designed plans get crumpled up and thrown in the bin. I revert to good old winging it. It’s worked before, so why shouldn’t it work again?
So, with plans, diagrams etc all being tossed out, the next step is the list of materials required. I have to admit to being very good at knowing exactly what I need. That is until Miss Muse and I step into the craft shop. Off we go with the list and every intention of sticking to it. I’m convinced these people see me coming and rub their hands in glee. I have asked them to, please, ban me from their shops but they won’t. It’s amazing what we find in the shop. All sorts of goodies that we didn’t know we needed, and if the truth be told we don’t need them. But they are oh so beautiful and intriguing and imagine just how useful they can be. Maybe not this time but I’m sure we will find a use for them. Or so Miss Muse whispers in my ear as I try hard not to be tempted.
Finally check out time comes and there I stand with all the necessary supplies and many that are supposedly needed in the queue. The teller rings up my pile of goodies and presents me with the total. I look around desperately for Miss Muse, who needless to say has disappeared. It amazes me that she never wants to pay for her share of the items. Short arms, long pockets syndrome. So I pull out my card and swipe it muttering to myself about all the other things like food that I will have to cut back on to make it to the end of the month. I walk out the door berating myself for my lack of discipline and inability to say No to Miss Muse and there she is. Standing outside waiting for me.
My next problem is that now I have to pack all the shopping in the car and make my way home. Miss Muse is excited about what we have and can’t wait to get home to unpack, and start the work. Miss Muse doesn’t have to travel by human means, she somehow just gets there as quickly as she can. I, however, have to make my way back obeying the speed limits and rules of the road. Not only because that is the right thing to do but also because I cannot afford the fines for disobeying the limits and rules. I spent all my money at the craft shop.
It’s wonderful to get home and unpack the car but before I can do any more than that there is the matter of seeing to my physical needs. The loo first or I will have more cleaning up to do and then a nice quiet cup of tea to sooth my nerves and help me get my mind together. These are all things that apparently are not part of Miss Muse’s life. I get the impression there are none of these required in her realm. By this time, she has become extremely impatient with me and so I hurry up with taking care of these everyday problems and get to work.
Once again, the arguments about how things should be done start. Wait for the paint to dry, or the glue to set? Why? You put it in the wrong place! I don’t like that colour! And so, on it goes. At this point I feel like I am dealing with a toddler whose only solution to a problem is throwing a temper tantrum. Oh boy, can Miss Muse sulk when she doesn’t get her own way. I persevere following the tried and trusted methods trying hard to block her whiny, demanding voice from my ears. I wish she would go away and play somewhere else.
No, Sorry. I need you here. Please don’t leave. It would be nice though if you could cooperate.
And then the time comes and finally the project is finished. I step back to admire all that hard work and how great it looks. I feel like I have accomplished something. Thank you, Miss Muse, for your help. Or as my mother always says “Either way it starts with H”.
Maybe it’s time for the Mental Health Professionals to step in?