Damn my flighty muse. She's the one who makes me cast on for a sweater, or blanket, or scarf on the hottest day of summer even though I already have a million other projects crying for attention. She's the one who makes me suddenly want to cook something fancy and gourmet even though I'm the only one home to eat it. And lately, she's the one who puts words and stories in my head and pushes them out of me via a pen in my right hand even though I'm in the middle of some very important things, like getting laundry together so I don't have to go naked, or typing up two and a half hours worth of meeting minutes that are due today! That rotten muse.
Her latest: I was washing my hands and about to leave the bathroom, when this sentence came to my head, "Frank was an asshole from the very beginning, which Kay knew but chose to ignore." What followed was an old story, for which I have had a closing line, but not an opening. Muse, don't you know I have a meeting to listen to and transcribe? Don't you know I have a huge meeting on Friday, the details of which need to be ironed out and finalized? Don't you know I don't have time to be writing no short stories?? I guess she doesn't.