4:23 AM
is what my watch reads
Twenty three minutes late...
Where is she?

This is maddening,
waiting for Inspiration.
Honestly, I don't
know how anyone does it
Who does she think she is?
I mean, yes she's Inspiration
but what gives her the right?

4:25 AM
*Sigh*
I wonder if Steinbeck,
Rowling, or Neruda
had to deal with this
Prima Donna and her
incessant tardiness.
It feels as if I've spent
half my life, just
waiting for Inspiration.

4:28 AM
Maybe I should just give
on her completely---
she always comes
last minute anyway.
Always on her schedule,
never my own.

I'm like a dog at her
feet, begging for scraps--
her tantalizing me with
bursts of creativity
to influence my art.

4:33 AM
My thoughts get
more jumbled and
messy by the second.
As of now, I can feel
my brain losing
its basic functions.
My fingers fidget over
the pen and paper,
itching to get started.

Is she a blessing or a curse?

4:36 AM
Sometimes I just want to
break down her door,
drag her by the hair,
make her sit across,
and force her to
make me sound
thoughtful,
astute, or even
comprehensible.

Curse this being for her power!

So many writers, musicians,
and artists depend upon her,
waiting for her magic...

4:42 AM
Okay, okay so you
gotta give Inspiration
a bit of a break.

It's not like she's God---
who else can be in
two places at once?


It's like she's the Sandman
with the never ending task of
putting the world to sleep.
If everyone was tearing
away at me, constantly
wanting my attention,
I'd go mad.

Now, I feel a little
sorry for Inspiration.

4:49 AM
But not that sorry
she still lacks the decency
to call when she's late.

My fingers have stopped
their fidgeting, and
have now started
doodling stick figures.

That’s all I got.
Pretty soon the sun will
rise, and all I will have
are disfigured people...

5:15 AM
Moved on to
drawing rabbits.
The birds have begun
to sing and my alarm
is about to go off.

My room is stifling me.

You know, I’m starting
to think she’s not coming.

5:30 AM
You know what?
It doesn’t even matter
at this point.

My fingers rub the sleep
from my eyes and
rake my wild hair.
Outside, the birds
have choir practice.
Are they laughing at me?

5:42 AM
I hear Mom get up,
slight clatter in the kitchen,
my alarm sounds
I get up to turn it off,
irritated at being disturbed.

Inspiration, I’ll get you for this.

5:50 AM
I pose like the Thinker
and hope for something.

I’m feeling desperate...

5:53 AM
The smell of sausage
wafts upstairs to my room.

My sister yells that
breakfast is almost ready.

5:57 AM
I pace uncontrollably

All that time I spent
waiting for Inspiration...

6:00 AM
Hey, I think I found
something to write about!

Just called Inspiration
---turns out, I don't
need her after all.