Can my muse be like Salma Hayek?

In the first sonnet ever written, Astrophel says:

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite--
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

I use a computer, which totally ruins what I was taught was a metaphor for getting real friendly with yourself, but my muse has been telling me to write, too. "Bashing her fist against the inside of my brain" telling me, or so it feels. And there has been a good bit to tell, a lot of it not so good.

On Sunday, I went to a Halloween party that my friend throws every year. It is very much a family party, and I may have been the only single person there, except for the legions of children. I actually spent a lot of the time alone, not because nobody likes me (I don't think that was the reason). Instead, it was because everyone else was looking after a kid or two. I would be talking with someone while they gulped down their dinner, and then they would say, "excuse me, I got to go" find my child, help my child, check up on my child, stop my child, etc. If it wasn't so damn beautiful, I'd have been pissed.

I saw this one guy open a bottle of beer, not even take a sip — just put it in his back pocket — and play with his daughter.

It is no different with my parents, I guess. Usually they don't check up on me that much, but I think that has more to do with my age than their love for me.

I stayed at my parents' house Sunday night and Monday morning was yet another example of their love, unfortunately. I asked Dad to put my shoes on while I was in bed because my bladder is fine when I am lying down but when I get up it remembers that it is FULL. I didn't make it to the toilet and so had to call Dad from the bathroom using my cellphone and ask him to bring me a change of clothes. He did, no problem.

The rest of Monday was OK, though I had to give up on one of my favorite TV shows. "Heroes" has just gotten too stupid for words.

Tuesday came and my ride to work was acceptable, which means it took an hour but I was on time. But work was so busy, and my boss is away, and the other guy I work with was getting a new PC so he had to go for training, which left me alone. I even worked on stuff at home for an hour or two after I got home. Claren started showing some signs of stomach problems, too, but seemed OK later.

My ride Wednesday was late and I got to work an hour late and felt so sick all day. I was mad and feeling behind all day even when my co-worker came in. I just had so much to do. I came home and worked for three hours on stuff that night. Claren seemed so fine I gave her dessert — beans. Stupid.

I woke up at 5 this morning and smelled something bad. I didn't see anything so I prayed Claren just had gas. When I got up at 5:30, I saw she had a little more than gas, all over part of my bedroom rug. Four years without an accident; now two in as many months. I hope it's a coincidence.

I called Dad and asked someone to come out early to clean it up. They were already coming to take me to the dermatologist for warts. Dad did (yes, I know I am lucky).

Work today was awful, too. It was busy; my co-worker got his new PC and was fiddling with it for a long time. To top it off, a program I beta-tested got released with my Imprimatur, but they changed it after I signed off on it and there is a big error. Plus, the dermatologist froze my warts off so my knuckles on my left hand have hideous and painful blisters — real fun when going through narrow doorways.

I don't if my muse is satisfied or if she really wanted me to … you know … But I feel better to get that off my chest.