Muse

I am becoming utterly self-obsessed.  It doesn't feel like self-obsession, it feels like being driven, but I can see that the sensation of wanting to push everyone and everything away and just focus on what's inside certainly looks like self obsession.  In fact it is, but it's also described as in the grip of one's muse.  I don't recall ever having it this bad before.  I should ask the Big Bad Bean. 

I dutifully took the Bumble Bean to the beach for his solar system adventure.  Castle Island was full of police and people in silly green things, so we had to drive up to Revere which was mercifully full of nothing at all, not even much water as the tide was lower than I have ever seen it.  Revere Beach on an eighty degree day two days before the start of spring at very low tide dimpled all over with sand dollars, not white, but somewhere between milk chocolate and rust, with dog tracks and people tracks and seagull tracks and what the Bean decided were ocean tracks, the hollows full of sloshing water and what I strongly suspect was clam poop but the Bean determined were worms, the ridges crushing under foot and full of clams, some with grass growing from them and some with sea weed.  I pulled a few out for the Bean to see and he got very excited and silly about the "noses" being gulped and chewed right up with big teeth.  He also pick several enormous bouquets of seaweed, some to set sail in his crocs, some to weight down with sand and other ooze, some to stomp, some to release into the ocean.  It was fun and he was fun and I had fun, but I was really waiting to be alone with my...me? To write and draw and learn to draw and practice drawing and formulate Artemis Winter.

Today I went along so the String Bean could practice his driving.  He drives like an asshole and this is good for me to observe because he doesn't drive this way because he is an asshole, just because driving around here makes no sense whatsoever and he is inexperienced.  We passed a man who was getting dressed on the sidewalk.  He pulled up his pants just as we approached him, but he pulled them up no higher than the bottom curve of his buttocks.

Dutifully, I will meet tomorrow with the childish lecher at work and go for coffee and talk with interest and intelligence on whatever he wants to discuss.  Dutifully, I will meet with the angry mom on Friday, I will go to dance, I will go to science.  Saturday, my duty will take me to lunch with ... someone who i don't feel able to describe.  Sunday with the Bean again, then work again on Monday. 

I will not design half a dozen dresses.  I will not make much progress on my drawing or story.  I will get almost no house work or home projects done or even started.  Was waking up such a good idea?