A-musing

no good muse_edited-1“Why do you think it’s too early to, how’d they put it, ‘channel the essence of our current moment for future generations’ to put in a time capsule?”

I looked up from my computer a little surprised to see my Imaginary Muse sitting on the couch. “Oh, hey! Didn’t know you were here. This isn’t the sort of thing I typically summon you for. ” I.M. didn’t reply.

“Anyway, yeah,” I continued. “You obviously read my mind. I do think it’s a little early to know what the essence—whatever in the hell they mean by that—of the year will be.”

“But it says ‘current moment,’ not the essence of the entire year.”

“Yeah, well, OK…so, that’s what I mean. I don’t know…the essence of a current moment…what’s that?”

“That’s what they’re asking.”

“The essence of the current moment? For a time capsule? Pfththttt.”

I.M. smiled. “I think it sounds noble. Lofty. Full of meaning.”

“Sure, if you write poetry. Or, an Epistle to the Corinthians. I mean, if you think you can channel the essence of all humanity, the universe and all whatever else into a moment in time… I think even Buddha had to sit under a tree for 40 days and 40 nights to get that one right.”

“Oh, look at you, mixing your mythical metaphors. Does Moses or Confucius fit in there somewhere?”

“Oh, com’mon!” I turned back to my computer and mumbled, “…essence of a current moment …give me a break.”

I.M. got up and walked around while I willfully tried to make him disappear. Just when I thought I’d succeeded, she called out from the kitchen. “So, you can’t tell me what the essence of this very moment is.”

“I thought you were gone,” I called back.

“I don’t leave until that question mark you got running around in your head goes away. You know that.”

I heard a bag wrestling. “Get out of the chocolate chips, please,” I admonished.

“Why? There’s not enough here to make cookies anyway.” I.M came back into the room and stood over my shoulder. “Hmph. You can’t think what to say, so you’re just gonna record our conversation.”

“Umm-hmm.” I stopped typing, and waited for I.M. to say something more. He made a face and plopped down on the couch.

“OK, OK. I’ll tell you what the stupid essence of this current moment is: frustration,” I snapped.

“Not the sort of thing you put in a capsule.”

“Of course it’s not. Because you can’t.”

“Ever put anything in a time capsule before?”

“Yeah. Gummi worms.”

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Time Capsule.”

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