Sullen

I have been in a bad mood since, oh probly since I figured out I couldnt write more than 4 lines that went together. I had so much flowing off the finger tips and nothing worked out. Poetic impotence. Damn. The muse was there he just wouldn't stay on one topic- a babbling drunk. And really I cannot actually find words to describe what I am feeling, though Sullen is what I am acting and Damn is what I am thinking and Nothing is what I am doing.

And then there was the rabbit. Somewhere between realizing my inability to write and my refusal to accept it I went downstairs to find inspiration. I found a rabbit. I dont like rabbits. I never really have. And here he is with his cute little wiggly nose and invader in my house. How in the Hell did he make it into my house anyways. I am good and 'holding down the fort' (which i have decided is a ridiculous expression- before the bad mood). But there is this nagging thought that 1 the cat is going to eat the bunny which seems kind of cruel (not the actual eating of the rabbit cause that is natural, but pinning down a baby rabbit in a house is like feeding a deer corn and shooting it in the head) or 2 the rabbit will just die of starvation and the house will smell forever. Here I was brooding in my own problems and I have to save a baby bunny. I was pissed. Then of course the rabbit doesnt understand that I mean to save his miserable little life and he runs away. The damn thing has the gaul to run into mom's sewing room, which if you havent seen it looks like Joann Fabrics imploded (complete with a fishtank). I lost him. The stupid thing is gonna DIE in the sewing room and I cannot find him and I just felt, well, thwarted (thank you for re-adding that word to my vocabulary). I was gonna sic the cat on him but I remembered that I had already labeled that as 'cruel' and while I was feeling about as mean as ever I did not want to be 'cruel'. So I blocked the damn thing in the sewing room with some lettuce found my 'inspiration' and went back upstairs.

The muse had not sobered up. Rather the 'inspiration' focused me but the muse was snoring off the beer and would not be roused. I eventually fell asleep staring at the blackness of my ceiling.

My alarm that I forgot to shut off woke me up in the same foul mood as I went to bed and I located the rabbit in question shortly after I went down stairs and set him out in a patch of clover. (There was about a 5 minutes period while I watched him that I thought 'Just maybe I might like rabbits' but it faded pretty quick when I found one in the garden) The only problem is that I found him in the dining room and there was no way he was getting out of that sewing room without magical powers. So I may or may not have another rabbit running around in my house waiting to get eaten by the cat or starve to death. I dont know. It is very disconcerting. I also chose that moment of realization to stop caring and I went out to work on my dresser.

The RQ wanted a rabbit story posted and one must keep her happy to keep one's head. I don't think its the kind of story she wanted but there were no specifics to that end so this is all she gets. And you get to suffer through it- provided you read the whole thing.