Yesterday's blog was not supposed to be yesterday's blog. It was supposed to, well, not exist. I wrote a blog the day before, and stared the edit. Simple word shifts turned into concept manipulation. My edits ran amok like Michael Jackson's plastic surgeon. One percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent flop sweat, and presto! Blogging mediocrity!
It happens, it's what we're all about (inspiration, not the mediocrity part). If you're an evolutionist, you believe that inspiration began the first time a monkey pulled an opposable thumb outta his butt. If you're a creationist, then we've been doing this since God looked at the animals and said, "It is good. I can do better. Awww, what the heck, let's make man instead."
We've been doing the same ever since.
"Honey, what did you do to the car?"
"I wanted to make it better."
"Uhm, ok, but why does my Hyundai Sonata now have hole in the hood where an oversized engine sticks out?"
"Oh, I decided cooler was better than better. Have you seen the flames I airbrushed on the front quarter panels yet?"
It's inspiration. For better, or for worse, whether it's divine or cereal box driven, it's what makes our little hearts go pitter pat. It's what made me change my blog yesterday. Yesterday, I was inspired. Today, not so much.
I watched a video on VH-1 last night. Sometimes I can throw it on while I work. The music us usually bland enough that I don't pay any attention. Except when they were playing that damn "1,2,3,4" song. How insidious was that? Where did that inspiration come from? A first grade chalk board? And there I was working and singing…sigh, I may have inspiration, but I apparently have no dignity.
Neither does another artist they played. I was typing away last night, when a voice speaks from my TV, "I draw inspiration from everything and anything that crosses into my body." Ok, I'll admit it. My inner Bevis took over for about 3 minutes, tugging at my sleeve. 'Hehehe. She said, 'into my body.'" After he wandered away, bored, I still considered what she had said. I know what she meant, but despite all my weighty metaphors, I'm a literalist.
I'm thinking, "so she eats a wedge of cheddar, that inspires what? Cheesy music?" The inner Bevis mentioned a hot dog, but I sent him away. This was serious thought. But ok, what if she breathed hot dog water fumes…inspiration?
Everything?
Shouldn't we have some Q&A interview process for inspiration? Were my inspiration border guards on lunch when I got married? Is that what happened?
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"just years of guilt and heartache."
"No hidden weapons?"
"No, nothing hidden, they're all obvious."
"Great, then welcome to Rob's heart."
And what about those things that just get stuck inside? Do you need to eat inspirational fiber to get it out so your thoughts don't constipate? Is this what happened to MyUnwife? She has an artists eye. She used to paint. Sure she hasn't in years, but I don't think that just because she stopped, she lost the tools.
Hehehehe
Shut up Bevis.
What if she to was inspired by everything she took inside her? (I said go away Bevis!) What if she compiled everything and didn't have a release? I've already proven that not all inspiration is good. What was her outlet? Other than playing stuff on the computer, I don't remember her having one. And she didn't even play cool violent stuff. It was mostly puzzles and solitaire.
I know, it's not my problem anymore, but still I hope she finds release. I did. I blog. Yeah, I know, once more, proof that not all inspiration is good. I apparently find inspiration from 100 monkeys sitting at typewriters churning out monkey drivel. I've yet to find my muse monkey, but I have found my inner Bevis, and that's a start. Maybe in the wrong direction, but what the heck, it's not like the divorce moved me to more than self doubt. An inner Bevis is a welcome change.
It's also inspired me to bump my planned blog back another day; that's what happens when your inner muse is your inner Bevis.
Hehehe...
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