My Muse is an Asshole

Originally published November 21st, 2016 on http://www.arlene-bozich.com

So most people are inspired by great things. Epic moments in films and sports, events like the Olympics, beautiful family moments, stories from truly unique human beings. Even the simple things, the beauty in every day life. Their muse works and just tilts their perspective a bit and the world keeps spinning.

I, on the other hand, got the drop out muse who smokes crack and thinks it’s fun to look up ways to hot wire smart cars at three in the morning.

Other muses whisper words of encouragement, maybe waking people up in the middle of the night (if it’s a really good idea) and letting them write down whatever inspiration has hit. Inconvenient at times, but always reassuring and hopeful.

My muse joined a screamo, death metal band and is confused why I unplug its instruments and microphones after four straight days of playing on repeat and demand it return the instruments that it obviously stole. It’s also very confused when I try to kick it out unless it pays the energy bill because I am not dealing with that shit.

When other people get injured, their muse finds ways to comfort them. Maybe helps them to be softer and reach out to people. Comfort, heal, therapy. Their muse is a companion in the search to find a solid foundation, an inspiration for others facing minor struggles in pain. They reach out to positive people with concrete plans. Muses at the top of their class.

My muse is screaming at me to take notes (because it lost ANOTHER notebook (the loss of the notebook is my fault actually, I lose everything, but my muse doesn’t realize that this part is my fault so I’m just going to roll with it)) while the guy manspreading next to me on the plane taps my knee brace (because apparently tearing your ACL twice is a thing in my life) and talks about how he got bit by a rattlesnake and it helped him not feel a thing and, if I pay him a grand, he can give me the number for someone who can help me get bit by a snake and survive so I don’t feel anything for the next few months, “Just watch out for blood clots, okay?” My muse has found its soulmate in this flanneled, two seat beast of a human being with rather opulent nose hair to match. It looks like he grooms it. My muse has never been more intrigued in its stupid little life.

Me: “I just want a snack during my layover in Denver…”

Muse: “Order a Bloody Mary and a full meal. You’ll make your flight.”

Me: “But-“

Muse: “ORDER. NOW.”

In this time of political and economic uncertainty, everyone else’s muses are working over time to either find unity or to communicate, with clarity, their grievances and join a unified cause. They are the good muses, the muses who will help create the great works that humanity will look back on with pride after this period of unrest. Future generations will study and revere these masterpieces of cultural and intellectual significance as we journey forward.

My muse is making popcorn and seeing how many fight clubs it can kick up before the cops show up and wreck the party. My muse is making twenty bucks a pop parking cars in a lot that it doesn’t even own and clearing out before the owners find out, but not without scrapping at least two of the cars for parts to make a quick grand in case I want to do that rattlesnake thing because, dear God, my knee has a heartbeat and my stomach lining can’t take more pills.

Your muse is helping you reach for comfort and security, safety and reassurance. Your muse is helping you care for yourself, taking calculated risks outside of your comfort zone to help you grow into a better person. Your muse wants you to succeed, wants you to be a bastion for a better society. Your muse is singing songs of beauty and triumph, or else sleeping peacefully and letting you go through your days in that comfortable way you’ve found all by yourself. A little isolating at times, but nothing you can’t channel into positive creativity.

My muse took a baseball bat to my knee caps, poured me some whiskey, then told me to stop bitching and walk if I wanted my drink. My muse sings Irish drinking songs (badly) and wants me to learn Russian so we can start an international capitalist venture and pretend I’m actually a Ukrainian locksmith named Olga. My muse is using an Onion router to avoid the NSA so it can look up the illegal sale of rattlesnakes so we can start our own pain clinic, only paid for in bitcoins before the procedure in case the patient drops dead because it has no idea how to stop blood clots.

Your muse seeks solace in friends and family, fights for a better tomorrow. Believes in equity for all people, needs more economic reassurances, has a healthy dose of fear about the corruption in Washington. Is very confused, positively or negatively, about the events during and after the election.

My muse is wrapped around my bad leg, begging me for a road trip to Washington D.C. “Just to see what’s going on,” but I’m on to you, asshole, we are not kidnapping politicians and selling them back to lobbyists no matter how much you think it would be cool to be That Crazy Chick Who Literally Stole Washington. You’re too broken to even lift and carry most of those fat ass politicians. And no, we are not going to put Trump wigs on all the national monuments BECAUSE WE ARE NOT GOING ON A ROADTRIP TO WASHINGTON. YOU HAVE SCHOOL AND YOU ARE ON A PLANE TO ARIZONA TO SEE FAMILY FOR THANKSGIVING, YOU UNGRATEFUL TWAT.

We are also not selling my eggs for cash. And no, you’re not good enough at poker to join a tournament with the cash from the eggs and actually win anything. And no, we are not restarting Tinder and Bumble to find a guy and score some free meals as well as whatever is in his wallet. You are not selling his credit card information for cash and no, you cannot steal other people’s kidneys. Show some decorum, for Christ’s sake. Your mother still reads this. Jesus.

God, my God, do not forsake me and this stupid prick of a muse no matter how rowdy we get. Please? And I’ll do my best to keep busy so we stay out of trouble. Sound like a deal? Just throw some lucrative job opportunities my way and that should keep this asshole distracted. That should work. Great. Go team. Amen.

Meet Gerald, the rattlesnake who has agreed to bite me for free

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