Mail slot
Mailslut by Jennifer Konig

Dear Muse,

Valentine’s day has come and gone, but you didn’t bother to visit. I would have been happy with a text, or an email, or any reminder that you’ve been thinking of me at all. Is that too much to ask for? Why is it that you only show up when it’s convenient for you?

You come creeping back home in the middle of the night, drunk on dreams. Don’t try to hide it. I can always smell it in your breath while you spout those beautiful words. These bags under my eyes? It’s your fault. Worse yet is when you come sauntering into the office, interrupt me at my work, and refuse to shut up. Why can’t you just wait for my lunch break? I’m afraid that one of these days I’m going to get fired because of you.

This relationship isn’t healthy. Why is it that I keep taking you back? I always get swayed by your excuses: this is how you work, brilliance comes in flashes, this time it will be different, this time you’re here to stay. RIGHT. I’ve had enough.

You know I love you, but something needs to change if this is ever going to work. You need to start working by my schedule. Look, I’m already here, waiting at my keyboard, and you’re late as usual. I keep showing up to the blank page, but where are you? If you don’t stop being so irresponsible, I’m going to write this novel without you.

So here’s your last chance to shape up or next week I’m taking applications for a replacement.