My Muse and Keurig Coffee

I never found my mojo today.  After a late night, last night, and fitful sleep with vivid dreams, I woke up to the familiar aura or "halo" in the left eye.

Aw, heck no.  I have not had a migraine headache since the first week of August, 2009.

And I am happy to report that I still have not had a migraine headache since August of 2009.

But I could not find my mojo.  Not to save my life.  I tried so hard to power through this day without it.  You should see the disgusting befuddlement of purple and pink I put on a canvas today.  My very first unmitigated disaster.  I ended up gesso'ing over the whole convoluted hot mess.

Mojo matters in art, apparently. I blame my Inner Muse.

I think perhaps my Inner Muse is spoiled on Keurig Caribou coffee, and hid the mojo when I tried to fuel her with reheated leftover Eight O'Clock.  I'm out of Caribou.  Blasted Muse.   After realizing I'd gone the whole day on nothing but a whole wheat English muffin and microwaved Eight O'Clock coffee, I've plied her with a lovely spinach and grilled chicken salad, diet Coke, a nice bubble bath, and WhoNu cookies...still, she has remained unresponsive.

Yesterday was so full of mojo.  Yesterday was all art and all business and all prayer and all git 'er done with a side of mentoring a young college girlfriend of mine.  I felt powerful yesterday. I wanted a repeat of yesterday, and thought I could have it all and a bag of chips, with or without appropriate rest, self care, and Keurig coffee.

I ended up a pitiful shadow of my yesterday's self, smearing purple paint on canvas and wishing I could down a red Solo cup of Jack.  But I'm a Preacher's Wife, so I am limited to Diet Coke.

This being an artist thing is harder than it looks.  My muse is a brat.  Apparently she requires that I take better care of myself.

Stupid muse.