writing painting and cleaning

I plunk myself down in front of a computer No reason, nothing to say, not inspired or anything Others say they stare at a blank page or screen Not me; I marvel at my hands as they begin to type Who are we channeling? Who is writing this stuff? I have no idea, but my muse is always writing, writing, writing Unless we are painting, and then I do not know whether she is asleep Or sitting on my shoulder, whispering to me which strokes to use If there is anything I do on my own, it is probably clean Because who wants to do that, right? Not even me.