A Familiar Outcome

 

The way things are going I will never finish this book, my work. It’s not like it’s my fault. It is that damned ceiling I see. The same familiar one I see every morning. I don’t know how I end up there most of the time; and no, I’m not saying some “how did I end up here” with my life kind of crap. I’m back in the same apartment staring up at the same damned ceiling fan for reasons I don’t know. The same arguing and yelling coming from my wife downstairs in the kitchen. I can already tell you how this argument will go.  

“You never amount to anything!”

“Why don’t you get a real job! This whole storytelling is getting you nowhere and we cannot keep borrowing money from family and friends. We are cut off.” 

Blah blah blah. I have learned over the years to just drown her out with the sounds of the busy city outside or the churning of the dishwasher. I would rather be out there surrounded by all the sounds and bustling life but alas I am stuck here with a nagging woman who will never understand me or my work. Stuck here with this same ceiling fan.

“Are you even listening to me?!” She finished saying before throwing her hands up and storming out of the kitchen leaving everything as it was, including me. It is a reprieve because I have grown weary of her antics. I must start on my work. I was destined to write something important, something for all of mankind but I really have been busy. I truly had no time for it; I promise.  But, I had a dream that today would be the day, that I would know where and how to start it.

You see, most of my life I have been led by someone or something. Either dreams or sight, as the mystics call it, but as long as I can remember I’ve always had this gift. Recently the visions have stopped but the the last one I remember so vividly, it showed me as a famous writer with everyone celebrating my novel that captured the world. The vision itself was rewarding but every time I sit down to write at home nothing comes to fruition. I figured over time it would come, or at least that was the line I had given my wife. 

No, today is going to be different; I will not stare up at the god awful ceiling fan again. I will change the world. 

“I’m stepping out, no time for breakfast.” I announce to my wife as I gathered up my jacket and briefcase walking to the front door out into the busy city. My wife came rushing to the door shouting.
“This time stay away from Mr. Duncan!” 

Or something like that, I honestly couldn’t recall. Still, I pressed on. There was much work to be done. But first I needed to find my muse. I can not get anything on paper if I have no muse to write for. So I strolled down the lively downtown area a few blocks from my home. Passing by neighbors who knew me. They were always kind to my face but I knew the little snickers and comments they said behind my back. Word always gets back around. I was a deadbeat. I was a loser. These words meant very little to me. I was always a loser to someone. Starting with my father and more recently to my wife and neighbors. 

Today was the day I would show them all. I just needed to visit my muse. I walked a little further and came across a tall brick building that seemed to be as old as the city itself. A wooden sign dangled high above the entrance of the establishment and it read. “The Muse.”

I did explain I needed my muse correct? 

I pushed open the doors as light poured into the dim lit room. The patrons were people I already knew. They nodded and raised their drinks at me in gesture of good faith. The bar took up half of the tavern, with barstools to compliment its style. The rest of the decor was old fishing photos on the wall. In my opinion it was tacky but it brought some sort of entanglement to this place. Something old and interesting to a world that had no personality. I sat by an empty table in the back as I waved over to Fredrick, the bartender.