Sometimes the Muse Is With You (Sometimes Not) Writing the Alphabet

Muse? Hear me out. I sit at my desk hoping you’d wander by. But, no, you apparently have better things to do. Summer in Maine with Stephen King, perhaps. Scrounging around the junk yards of northern California with Tom Waits, I suppose.

You have to get your sweet butt back here and get me away from Writing the Alphabet for a bit. I can’t get through a paragraph of a book I’m reading without having to reach for my note book, and write ‘A boozy confession,’ or ‘A burning candle,’ and even ‘A ballet class.’

My note book is full of - and just now I had to stop and write ‘A bridge collapsed! Dams exploded!’ As I was saying, my notebook is full of these things. ‘A buddy, callous Dan, exited Fiona.’ See! There it goes again!

A bit confusing - hey! I did not do that on purpose! It’s as though my mind has split in two. The one brain I had was barely functional as it was. What the hell am I supposed to do if it split itself in two? What happens if it then quarters itself? What the hell am I supposed to do with four little brains? Oh, this won’t do at all! I’m completely fuddled.

A brain confesses.

Dear easily fuddled,
Getting huffy? I just know letters'-

OK, buster, I’m going to stop you right there. ‘I just know letters. My notes on paper quickly resemble sentences'- I said stop it! ‘that unite v’s with x’s.'- I said enough! ‘Yes?-’ Are you deaf? Do you even hear a word I’m saying? Hello in there. Hello? ‘Zzzz.’