Maggie My Muse

Let me tell you about Maggie - Maggie my muse.   

Romancing Maggie in the Garden

 She's a fickle sort of gal, and feels that giving her a name would hinder her artistic flow - thus making it hard to pin down the appropriate one, Maggie.  

Maggie has a wind blown style about her, the one that flows and billows in the wind creating wispy texture about.  She survives on romance and dreamy air - if you want her to swoon, sip wine in the garden at dusk.  The twilight of dusk is her magical time, fairy friends find time.


Maggie is lost in time and matters of cordial comfort.  She'll bestow her creations when they are ready - waking you as the story unfolds and propelling your forward all night long.  She'll exhaust your physical platform, pushing you past your known.   She flows through time like the eagles soar above, with astounding ease and grace.  


She lusts for loads of naps, rejuvenating her spirit in order to tap her trundle of inspiration.  


She vehemently hates stress, to-do-lists, alarm clocks, should haves, and could haves -  foreign to her soul.  Zen is a must, if you want her stay.   

Maggie a seat for you

Maggie my muse keeps me craving her company.

Me Pilates and a Graceful Zebra?

Today I bravely woke up early - arguing the entire time with my inner sleep diva (who is rather bitchy and usually wins)- so I can attended Pilates.  I come barreling into class; eyes half shut, feet barely shuffling along the ground, shocking my entire system into either hiding in a corner or shutting down into fetal position.  At one point I realize I wouldn't even be able to pass a DUI test, let alone have enough coordination to step, slide, walk forward backward, with a lung, kick, and god forbid any kind of grace.  I looked about as graceful as a zebra stuck in the mud - to be fair to the zebras, they are way more grace then me.

After 45 minutes of my 60 min class, I start to wake up.  I find myself wanting to push harder. But wouldn't you know, I've left my friend coordination back in bed (lucky bugger).  I fight my way through the rest of class, humbly remembering why I choose to participate (to lift my booty), thank the teacher (I'm not sure why, cause I know my legs are gonna hurt, and I'm going to be using her name in vain later today) and shuffle in pain back home.