|Charis, protecting her identity.|
Photo by Jiri Hodan, courtesy of Public Domain Pictures
So I've known Charis for several years now. She's been with me since my days of adolescent angst and teenage trauma, which means, of course, that she knows a lot about me. (Note to self: weigh your words carefully here.)
Charis and I have a love-hate relationship. We have days when she calls me boring and I accuse her of being annoying. Some days I just wish she'd go away, but others--when deadlines loom and I sit for hours idly staring at the blank computer screen--I wish I had her phone number.
Of course she is.
Charis claims to work only for me, but I don't know if I believe her. I once saw her with a suitcase in one hand and a first-class ticket to Bermuda in the other. She claimed they belonged to her sister, but we all know what liars--er...storytellers--muses can be.
Charis is fickle. Sometimes she'll stay away for weeks--even months--at a time. Once she was gone for three months, and when she came back and I asked her why she had left--"abandoned me" were my exact words, I think--she said that she'd had to go because she was offended by my flip-flops. Coincidentally, those shoes disappeared right around the time she did. (Hmm...maybe it's time to apologize to the husband now.) I have no idea where she goes or what she does, and she's not telling. I've noticed, though, that she often returns looking suspiciously tan.
|Could this be where Charis has been spending her time?|
Photo by Darrell Goode, courtesy of Public Domain Pictures
Once Charis hung around here for two months straight. She took over my bed and rearranged my underwear drawer and proclaimed my kitchen a dairy-free zone. I would have thrown her out, but she was spending all her non-organizing time feeding me awesome story ideas. (And I'll let you in on a secret: I kind of liked my smaller, dairy-free derriere. Just don't tell her I said that.) Still, I refuse to let her control my life. I keep my ice cream at the neighbors' house now.
Most of the time, though, I'm on my own, and--dare I say it?--I miss her. It's not just because she gives me story ideas and organizes my medicine cabinets. No, the real reason is this: she's become--and I can't believe I'm saying this--a friend.
But she'd better stay away from my ice cream.
I've love to hear a little about your muse. If you don't have one, tell me about the people in your life who inspire you.