Properly Un-Thinking

20260521

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Halls Of Pandemonium”, Day 21.

Previous parts here, here, and here.

“Y’know… playing Minecraft is starting to look like procrastinating.”
I look up to roll my eyes at the judgemental alien who’s perched on the shelf above my bed - to the mild annoyance of my cats, that being part of their walkway. “I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired. Kinda the definition of chronic fatigue.” Though sympathetic, Pois’s tone has that focused undertone which means ne’s serious about this. “And you know what doesn’t help your tiredness?”
“Stress?” It comes out snappier than I meant. Defensive?
“That too!” Pois pivots effortlessly, switching narrative tacks and leaving me tripping over my own sarcasm. “And leaving things to the last minute? Stress!”
“Ugggh.” Looking back at my game doesn’t help - ne’s positioned nemself just right to have nir glowing eyes visible on my Steam Deck screen.
“I get the whole ‘I’ll potter about and let my subconscious cook something up’. Makes sense. Big part of your process. And I believe muses are all about supporting the creative process.”
I tilt my head back to scowl at nem. “Didn’t we establish that you deliberately got yourself embroiled in this muse scheme just to trick them into manifesting you so you could prevent me being assassinated?”
“Did we?” Pois’s expression doesn’t flicker. Natch. Ne’s blandly stared down far more intimidating characters than me. Trickier argument opponents, too. “I don’t remember that. And, as the only person present with an eidetic memory…”
“Predictable followup!”
“I’m trying to stay on your level.” The merest hint of a smirk. This’s what I get for manifesting a genius.
“Look, I just… I haven’t come up with anything yet.” I turn my gaze to the window, a safe spot which doesn’t have eyes reading me like a picture book.
“Uh-huh. And is spending your limited brainpower putting together imaginary factories going to help you come up with anything?”
No. But it’s safe. And offers the illusion of productivity. I’m basically drip-feeding my brain a phantom echo of feeling accomplished, in the hope that’ll motivate it to seek the real thing.
I barely grumble when Pois’s tail stretches down and snatches my game out of my hands.
“You know what you actually need?”
I sigh. I protest - for no real reason, I know the argument’s already lost - “I’m too listless to be productively bored.”
“That’s why you put music on for un-thinking.”
“My noise cancelling headphones died on me and-”
“Play the music on the laptop. Use those headphones. Just don’t put a playthrough on - you need rhythm, not narrative.”
“…I don’t have any suitable music for this prompt.”
I’m already working on getting up. I really miss the days when that didn’t require mustering resources. When I could just… stand.
“That never matters.” Pois’s tone is increasingly forbearing. An effective prod. “If a song comes on which scratches your brain right, put it on loop. Otherwise just let it all be noise. That’s all you need.”
“The irony of getting this spiel from someone who needs constant stimulation not to go crazy…”
“I also treat radioactive metals as candy. Don’t even try and pretend that comparing us, in any biological sense, is productive.”
“Yeah, yeah…” I flump back down, headphones in hand, the computer monitor pulled around on its arm so I can see it comfortably from bed.
Flick on my bluetooth mouse, kept on my bedside unit for this exact reason. Open browser, navigate to YouTube, don’t click on any of the gaming videos the homepage is excitedly offering me. I’m after the music tab.
Ok. Now what? What mood am I going for, here?
A finger (or possibly a toe, nir hands and feet are interchangeable after all) gently taps the top of my head. “Nuh-uh-uhh, no letting the momentum fizzle. Spending ten minutes scrolling up and down playlists isn’t going to help, and you know it. Just hit ‘shuffle’ on ‘liked’. Embrace the chaos. It’s good for inspiration.”
“You would say that.”
“Uh, yeah, I just did.”
How am I this bad at arguing with myself today? I mean, that’s basically what’s happening. I’m having an argument with myself and losing badly.
I click to the massive eclectic ‘liked’ playlist and grumble “I can’t believe I’m being babysat by a figment of my own imagination.”
“Well, someone has to be an adult here, and since it’s clearly not going to be you, let’s just be glad there’s another option.”
“This is Salmiakki slander.”
The black kitty, recognising her name, opens one eye to squint at me from her comfy hammock.
“Oh please. She’s complicit in your procrastinating. None of your three understand the concept of storytelling, much less think it’s important.”
I peer up at nem. “You speak cat?”
“How is this a surprise??” Pois squints, seeming genuinely incredulous. For whatever that’s worth, with nem.
I can’t keep back a grin. “Hey, I can’t remember everything I’ve written about you. Only one person in this room has an eidetic memory, y’know.”
“Touché.” Pois returns the grin - then tweaks my nose and firmly says “Now…”
“Yeah, yeah.” I settle my headphones, make sure my pillows are arranged properly, and hit ‘play’.
Oh, is my knitting to hand?
Good. I’ll start by lying still, but if I catch myself picking apart my cuticles I’ll get more of that sock done. That’s nice, fairly mindless work. Perfect for ‘un-thinking’.
A dozen distractions beckon. Admiring my kitty. Checking on the event. Scrolling social media. Watching a playthrough of a game I’d love to play but no longer have the focus for. But the loving yet insufferable literary gargoyle perched above me is keeping a sharp watch for any lapse in deliberate non-focus.
I know blocking in proper brainstorming time helps. And I know that the sooner I get today’s piece written, the better I’ll feel. That even when I don’t want to write, it’s good for me.
Minecraft will wait very patiently.
And hopefully whatever Pois is tapping away at up there will fix my imaginary fluid routing problem.

Prompt was “Write about your muse catching you avoiding something.”