The Muse Read Online Free

melted butter? Now we’re talking.
    Another great benefit of being alone was I never had to share the remote control with someone. If I wanted to lounge in my baggy sweatpants in front of the tube and watch a House television marathon, then move over to-do list.
    Single life didn’t suck.
    Single life fucking sucked.
    I lived my life hidden behind my condo door, behind my endless piles of crap work, behind my pile of rejection letters from editors of magazines. Living life from behind a comfort prop, be that a slice of pizza, a laptop, or a double locked condo door sucked. It cored me open like a volcano and spewed all sorts of life-erasing lava around so no one could get near me. Well, no one except for Doreen and Larry.
    Thank goodness for those two, otherwise I might’ve been committed to a rubber room where guards served me happy pills round the clock just to keep me from stabbing myself with the leg of a folding chair.
    Before Larry met his newest love interest, Tim, a man I had yet to meet, he obsessed over finding a boyfriend. We’d have web search parties. We loaded up profiles on every gay dating site known to mankind. He would get some hits, but none ever met his standards. He wanted a hunky, tall, rich man who enjoyed dogs, kids, and sailing. Oh, and the man needed to love Riesling wine and own a company. He was not into men who desired to climb any corporate ladders. They needed to tout an entrepreneurial spirit, because that spelled adventure and free thinking. According to Larry, this dream guy needed to be on his same path. He’d say this with a straight face as if he owned and managed a life of his own where he could come and go as he pleased. The only trek Larry took out of his comfort zone was volunteering at an LGBT youth center. Larry, by all other accounts, was what I could only refer to as a security and safety junkie. He worked for the government for five years, was fully vested in his retirement account, enjoyed his fringe benefits package which included, but was not limited to, twenty-two vacation days a year, twelve sick days, ten holidays, and of course a flexible spending account.
    Yup, you guessed it; Larry was just as screwed up as I was. I couldn’t love him more for that. If he was straight, and I was even a smidgeon attracted to him to the point I wouldn’t throw up if he tried to hold my hand, then we’d be a perfect couple.
    Larry was the only person on the planet who knew my story. Well, part of my story. He could only handle so much drama. Yes, a gay man, who screamed at the sight of sugar ants crawling up his windowsill, wanted to avoid drama. Let’s just say his brain could only cradle a certain amount of backstory before he exploded into a torrent of tears. I couldn’t stand to see a grown man cry. Especially a gay man who tended to slip into overdramatic weeping at the confession of a bully attack.
    Big deal, I was bullied and tormented as a kid. Bigger problems plagued this world than a teenager, in her most vulnerable years, being bullied by her supposed best friends at the time. The global economy was going to shit. The air quality was ridiculous. Gas prices had soared out of control. Children were starving in the streets. So what, I had to brave a dozen girls and their mean attacks for several years during my most formative stage and my parents and sister had to uproot to avoid the retaliation? Oh and that little sister was still battling a drug addiction brought on by moving away from all stability and being tossed into a feeding frenzy of popular girls doing drugs.
    If you hadn’t guessed by now, I caused not only myself loads of trouble, but also everyone who trailed alongside me, too. I was danger. I should’ve worn a sign attached to the center of my chest that read ‘toxic.’ If, as members of society, we had to create a tag line for ourselves, mine would definitely be, ‘I fuck up lives.’
    I only allowed myself to go into the deep, dark recesses of my mind