Such a Pretty Vase
Yinseriv
“Hope!” Heather screamed at me. “You hope we have enough money for the rent?” The rant continued on after that, but hey, I’ve heard it every month since I moved in here. So I tune it out and continue writing away. Writers write says Steven King, and now that is one man who can write! You don’t see him putting in applications at some crappy job. No sir bob. He can wipe his a*s with hundred dollar bills because he writes. Heather doesn’t see the big picture though. Nope, not her. She’s got a small mind. Yep, she has a big mouth and a small mind. Just as soon as I finish this book and sell it I have got to go.
Despair, that’s going to be her middle name as she sits in this rundown little apartment and watches me sitting next to Oprah. Oh I wish they had two way televisions because I would sure like to see her as she is seeing me. She’d be parked over there on that white pine and blue denim futon with her damn long hair cat that won’t use the litter box. Her mouth would be dropped open so far the damn cat could s**t in that! Then she’d be sorry. Oh yeah, sorry for all those mean words she is still squawking off over there.
Beauty is what I am going to be surrounded by. I’d been done with this book if I was surrounded by beauty. No self respecting muse is going to plop her a*s down here. I got to sweat out every word I write. The second book will be easy. I’ll have a New York penthouse so I can be close to the publisher. I’ll have white leather furniture that sinks into a white carpet so thick that the muse will just take her sandals off and stay awhile. And there won’t be any cats running around dropping little stink bombs on that carpet!
Ugly damn cat. He always wants to jump up on my writing table when I am in the zone. Then here comes the tail swish right over my coffee cup. If I wanted cat hair, and god only knows what else in my coffee I’d use his damn tail to stir it. I know he does it on purpose. That cat ain’t dumb. Note to self; no cats.
Life is going to be good. I’ll have creative people over and we’ll drink espresso while bouncing ideas off one and other. I’ll read them excerpts from the books I am writing. And then when it is time for supper we’ll go to one of those restaurants that serve that artistic food. I’ll follow that up with dancing in the clubs with who I want to, as late as I want to. There won’t be no having to be quiet because someone with a big mouth and a small mind has to get up and go to her Burger King job.
Death, that’s what she is going to be to me. I’ve been here three months and I only got six chapters done because it is always something with her. Take out the trash. Run and get us some beer. Get a job and help with the rent. She is not a creative person at all. Oh heck no. In fact, she is draining my creativity! I got to finish this book, sell it, and get out of here. There is nothing here that I will miss when I have my new life. Well, maybe that empty vase over on the windowsill. It is such a pretty vase.
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