"Making something," the Muse replied.
"A noose," she said, and held it up for me to see, thick and pale like a rope of intestine. "You're thinking it looks like an intestine, aren't you?" she asked.
"So what's that for, Muse? You planning on pitching yourself over the balcony or something?"
She shook her head. "Nah. It's for you. I figure that if you don't get your head out of your ass and cheer the fuck up, you're going to be needing this."
"That's awfully helpful, thank you very much."
She shrugged. "Whatever. I don't get paid the big bucks to be helpful. I'm just here to be really hot and have a sweet ass."
"Ah," I said. "So you've been reading my journal. I did point out that you're brilliant as well, you know."
"True," she said. "But I know that it's really all about the ass. Isn't it?"
"It is like a peach, you know."
She tossed the noose at me, overhand. Fortunately, her aim hadn't improved over the past few days, and it sailed over my head and smacked against the wall. "Very mature, Muse."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Just hurry up and quit being such a prick, would you? You're down all the time, always, no spark to you at all, not a ray of sunshine to be seen in your gray, miserable world, and you know what? It's really getting old."
"Yes, well, when your life is like being caught in a taffy puller, you get back to me and I'll be the first one to give you a pistol."
"Nah," she said. "Not romantic enough. I'm going either with drinking drain cleaner or pitching myself off the Golden Gate Bridge. In a pinch, I might just stab myself in the femoral artery. Only takes a few seconds to bleed out that way."
I stared at her. "You scare me sometimes, Muse."
"I scare you all the time. It's because you love me."