Return muse

I'm notoriously bad at writing down ideas. During dinner I had a great idea for a blog post. Between mouthfuls of chicken I vowed to myself that I would remember what that idea was. Hours (and half a bottle of wine) later, my mind is... well, I don't want to say "clear." To be precise, it's dark, red and opaque like a Petite Syrah.

My idea (probably) had something to do with people. Generally my ideas about people are that a) they are untrustworthy and b) that they are malevolent. Sometimes they are both. To me this is the most egregious offense. I prefer the villain who declares himself so and even dresses the part. The pseudo-seraphim ready to pierce you between the shoulder blades are plainly: the worst.

But I'm veering from the track. Though most of my thoughts are paranoid delusions on how shitty people close to me are, I don't think that was the premise that popped into my head while eating curried chicken and naan. It might have had something to do with "ghosts." Or perhaps, it had something to do with the process of hiring interns. Fuck. What happened to this thought?

This is troublesome. Not because I think the idea was something brilliant that merited mentioning, but because it was a jumping off point. A launch pad. A point of focus. And somehow, I have lost my hold of this talisman, and lost it to the hot magma in the volcano of my mind. Perhaps, the idea was that my mind is like a volcano? No, that can't be it.

Tom Waits once commanded the muses that circled his head to "come back another time," since they had reached him at an inopportune time. Perhaps while eating I should do the same.