I am disgusted.
My human has finally gotten her act together to start writing again, but she's still not committing herself to the craft. I can somewhat understand that she has to work to make a living. Not all of us can live in caves and roast peasants. I keep reminding her that she'll have more income if she actually SELLS HER WRITING, but that doesn't seem to make a difference in her work habits. Still, I can understand why she feels compelled to work three jobs if that's what it takes to keep her from starving. I guess...
But now my human has become obsessed with an activity known as "running." Dragons aren't really big on running. Our legs are better suited for leaping into the air or ripping the intestines out of a live cow. Even if our legs were built for running, I'm sure flying would be much faster.
My human has one of those car things that transports her to and from various activities (that aren't writing), so the running isn't even a means of getting her from one place to another. In fact, she runs up and down the same stretch of sidewalk four or five times. It's the most boring thing I've ever heard of. She does it because she says it's good exercise, and I GUESS I'll give her that. I have just seen her get a far more efficient calorie-burning workout from Jerkface, her pet elliptical machine.
Jerkface hasn't gotten much use lately because she's been running. Up and down the sidewalk. Over and over.
Sigh.
Well, today my human went to work for a few hours. Then she came home and ran a little over five miles. The running took more than an hour of our writing time. Then she came home and took her own sweet time showering before FINALLY sitting down to write. She wrote a few paragraphs and had the nerve to get up before I told her she could finish.
"Where do you think you're going?" I asked her.
"I'm going to go make dinner. I'm hungry," she replied.
"Not until you write some more."
"I'll write more later," she said.
"PSSH!" I said. "I've heard THAT one before. Look, I'm a Dragon-Muse. I Muse. That's what I do. I can't Muse if I don't have a writer to Muse for."
"Chillax, Pneuman," she said.
"Is 'chillax' even a word?"
"It's a wombo," she said. "A word combination. They're the latest trend in the English language."
"KILL THEM! KILL THEM WITH FIRE!"
"Don't be so dramatic. People have been defiling the English language for centuries."
"You're telling me. I've actually witnessed it. That doesn't mean I'm going to accept such atrocities from you!"
"What I write in my novels is your business," she sighed. "What I say in real life is mine."
"Look, Fair Ruth, you know I think you are an amazing writer, and you know I would maim anyone who says differently, but I am getting sick of you neglecting us. I didn't want to mention this, but there's this lame garage band down the street that could use some Musing."
"Yeah, right," she said. "You'll never leave. Where else are you going to find a human who will type up your blog posts, even when they're calling her lazy?"
She had a point. "Look, just sit down and write another page...it won't take long."
"I just ran five miles," she had the nerve to tell me. "That's kind of my 'get out of writing free card.'"
"You can rest and write at the SAME TIME!" I shouted.
She shook her head and left the room. Well, an hour later, I flew in to see what she was doing. My human was sitting on the couch, eating a bowl of peanut butter and honey (she's recently become quite addicted to this revolting dish), and watching Jeopardy! She's not even smart enough to WATCH that show. Plus, she could have spent that time working on her book, or editing another book, or trying to sell another book.
Do you see what I have to work with?
...I really won't leave her, though. That garage band sounds like a torture chamber. ...and I prefer to be the one doing the torturing.
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