This is a dramatization of a true event.
Setting: Jamaica, Queens, New York. Saturday, October 5th at 3:44 AM
Me: (groggily) What? What is...? (reaches over to the nightstand and flicks on the lamp. Turns to face the foot of the bed. Spots a large figure at the bottom of the mattress. The figure is dress in black.)
Me: AAAAAAAHAHHHHHAAAAHHHHAAAAHHHH!!!!! (calms down. Identifies the figure as Muse #3.) What-in the-blue f-(bleep)-k are you doing in my room, looking like the Prince of f-(bleep)-king darkness?! (glances over at the alarm clock that is on the nightstand) It is 3:45 in the morning! Why are you here?
Muse #3: Here. (tosses lap top onto my lap) Let's go.
Me: (while staring incredulously) Now?! You want me to write now?!
Muse #3: (shrugs shoulders) Well, you ain't doing anything at the moment.
Me: I was sleeping, jackass!
Muse #3: Yeah, like I said, you were doing nothing.
Me: (dead-pan stare)
Muse #3: (stares from left to right and finally at me) What?
Me: (dead-pan stare)
Muse #3: So, are we going to get started?
Me: (blinks eyes and then sighs)
Muse #3: (smiles and then starts to clap fanatically) Goody-good-good! Now, wipe that drool off of your face and let's rock-and-roll!
Me: (groans and slips out of the bed. Trips on a bed sheet and lands on my knees. Hears Muse #3 giggle. Stands up. Then, limps out of the bedroom.)
Muse #3: (snickering while staring at me as I walk out of the room) Are you alright? (still snickering)I like your sleeping bonnet! Makes you look elegant!
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Hello readers!
I know! I know! I have been not fulfilling my obligations by keeping up to date with my stories.
I've been dealing with health issues, a nasty case of writer's block, some important people have been sick (including my toddler-niece), work (I have working overt-time) and some plain ole' laziness.
Speaking of my writer's block, it's somewhat cured, but I have encountered a new problem. I have a case of 'Muses Overload'. My mind has been coming with a lot of premises for new stories and it's driving me abso-freaking-lutely INSANE! LOL! It's like suffering from a clogged up sink: Water is filling up the sink, but I can't shut off the water valves.
Thanks to a friend's suggestion, I have been able to come up with a method to sate my creative palate. Using a old-fashioned daily planner, I have decided to focus on one story for each week. For one week, I focused on this story. Then I had taken a break because of the holidays. Next week, I am finally going to focus on another story. And so on and so on.
Now, without further ado....
----------------- ~oMRo~ ------------------
Seven weeks later
"Oooh, Chloe, look," Lynn chirped as she pointed over to a storefront window that was on the opposite side of the mall's second floor.
I looked in the direction of where she pointed and saw that her index finger was aimed towards a mannequin that was in the A/X Armani Exchange window. Lynn snatched up my left hand in her right one. She yanked on my hand as she broke out in a sprint.
"Let's go and take a look!" she squealed with excitement.
Her leather, riding boots-clad feet and my sneaker-clad ones barely touched the tiled floor as we trotted across the mall. We approached the storefront window and I saw Lynn's object of desire. It was a snakeskin-printed, wrap dress that held a pair of shoulder pads that could've been described as ostentatious. It was as black as the deep blue sea.
"This is a nice dress!" claimed Lynn as she ogled the expensive piece of fabric. "What do you think of it, Lo?"
I had taken another gander of the dress. "I, uh, I think that it is an expensive piece of fabric that you and your friends would like," I explained to her.
"Of course I like it, I mean, look at it! It just screams 'Me'!" she chuckled.
"So, are we going inside?"
"What?! God, no!" Lynn gave a stare that displayed her mortification. "Have you seen what I look like?!" At this point, Lynn tore her vision away from my face. She peered down at the lime green, cashmere sweater-covered, spherical bulge that was her stomach. She cupped her twenty-two week old, pregnant stomach with her hands. "I am a big fat cow! If I were to put that dress on, I would look like an idiot!"
'Ugh, here we go again,' I secretly fumed. I bit down the urge to roll my eyes.
"Lynn, you're not fat," I told her. "You're pregnant."
"And I am fat!" she proclaimed.
I sighed. I kind of hoped that my rising level of irritation would disappear after that exhalation.
"And you just sighed at me!" she accused, with a squeal to her tone of voice. "You're becoming annoyed with me!" she whined.
"No, I am not annoyed with you..."
'Yeah, I am.'
"...Lynn. I'm just trying to explain to you that you're not fat. You're pregnant and in order to have a healthy baby, you're going to have to gain weight," I explained to her.