Until the Muse Shows Up

"You should post earlier in the day."

"Huh?"

"Like, by 8am".

"Huh?"

"Because I keep checking and checking and I'm sad when nothing is there".

Poor Spouse. Problem is, what if I'm not inspired by 8am? Because I'm usually not. I gotta drink coffee first and think about things, maybe read the NY Times, maybe clean my fingernails. Like I need the pressure of blogging before 8. As it is, it's almost 9 and I got nothing.

Except there was a thunderstorm last night. It was really loud, really groovy. I love thunderstorms, provided they aren't right on top of me. Plus it brought with it, as it does, a requisite cool and mellow post-storminess. This pleases me in particular because I've been craving deep dish Chicago-style pizza all week and The Spouse said he knows how to make it because he used to work in a pizza place called...wait for it...."Chicago's"...and I got all excited about the possibilities but with it having been so hot I knew he wouldn't make it for dinner tonight but now, hey, nothing to stop him. Yum.

Also, I'm having a real problem with my brain. For over a week now two songs have been looping through it: "My Kind of Town", which is sometimes supplanted by "Popular" from "Wicked". It's starting to drive me nuts, especially since the songs are not running in their entirety. Just bits and fragments..."and each time I leave, Chicago is, tugging my sleeve, Chicago is....Popular! you're gonna be pop-u-lar....just not as popular. as. me!" Over and over.

I'm starting to fear that the only thing I can do is go to "Here's the 80s" and watch the Xanadu video. Which is really more like putting out fire with gasoline.

This song looping tendency of mine kinda frightens me. Like, if I lose it when I'm old and I'm sitting in the home, I'm going to be that weird scary lady who sits and rocks and sings just little bits of songs randomly, over and over, until it's time for my sponge bath. I don't want to be that lady. I want to be one of those elegant, poised, self-sufficient Kate-Hepburn-living-on-her-own-and-swimming-every-morning sorts of ladies. The one that grand and great-grandchildren are delighted to visit regularly because I'm so charming and funny and erudite and oh, so shockingly liberal for one of my advanced years. Also, I'll be wearing really nice Ann Taylor trousers and sweater sets with pearls and not purple track suits with orthopedic shoes. And my gun metal grey hair with just the most elegant streaks of pure white will sit atop my head in a loose French bun. And my nails will be painted red and nicely, too. And I'll still eat dinner at 7.

It's important to have goals, don't you think? So I gotta get a handle on this looping music thing so that I don't bring on some sort of early dementia.

Golly, it's gotten dark all of a sudden. I actually think it might rain. Dang! I have to shut down the computer...it's another thunderstorm! I'd better go make sure Rosie isn't still sleeping in the hammock.