Where the fuck is my muse? Oh, it's somewhere in that bottle of whine...

Now that I've been laying off the vino more or less, I've found that the muse doesn't take me as much. This, in my mind, is a bit of a bad thing. Am I one of those writers who's creativity is influenced by self-destruction and chaos? I'm thinking; probably...

How bad is it to have 2 glasses of wine and go to town on the internet though? I mean, really...I do have a lot of fun...