If my muse we’re a real person, everyone would hate her.
She wouldn’t respond to phone calls, emails or voice messages. If you walked by her in the street, she’d pretend she didn’t see you. And if you tried to wave her down, she’d just walk faster. Unless of course, she wanted something from you. Then she’d be in your face every five minutes. Constantly and incessantly nagging like child that will just not shut up!
She’d have zero tact.
She’d turn up when you’re naked.
In the shower.
In the middle of dinner.
Whenever she liked really, because apparently, the world revolves around her!
She wouldn’t be a team player. When everyone else is contributing, she’d hang back in silence and then come in at the eleventh hour with her two cents. And when everyone says, “Well, you could have saved us a lot of time and energy if you’d helped out a month ago!” Her response would be, “Eh.”
She’d go on long trips out of town without notice doing God knows what. Probably selling drugs to teenagers or some other nefarious activity because she’d never tell you about it. And if you inquired, you’d get told to mind your own business.
And MAN! WOULD SHE BE ANNOYING! If she got invited to a wedding, she’d turn up early and re-arrange the place settings at the tables so that she got to sit next the person she thought was the star of show.
If I had to give her one of my famous construction site nicknames, it would be “Lurch,” because that’s exactly where she’d leave you every time she nicked off.
I know this because that’s where she left me last fortnight.
Then out of the blue, she comes strolling back into my life with a smile on her face and wad of cash in her back pocket. She’s finally going to pay me back all that money she owes me. But do you think she’ll tell me where she’s been?
Not a chance.