Instruction for Staring Out

Nobody called me. Nothing broke.

No place to be.

No work I forgot.

I checked

twice. This is apparently a free afternoon.

Okay. What do people do with those? (hmm?)

I sat on the couch.

Put my feet up.

Made it maybe forty seconds.

Then noticed the shelf was crooked.

Fixed the shelf. Cleaned underneath it.

Found a cable. Don't know what it belongs to.

Now I'm labeling cables.

I don't know how to do nothing.

I finally got nothing to do,

and I don't know what to do with it.

Everybody says, “Just relax.” Great.

Could somebody explain

what the fuck that actually involves?

Sit down. Okay.

... This is fucking terrible.

Maybe I'll

check something. No. We're relaxing.

Maybe just one number.

No. Put the phone down.

Pick the phone up.

(hah) That wasn't even ten seconds.

I tried watching television.

Couldn't stop thinking about something I could make.

Tried taking a nap.

Had three ideas. Tried doing absolutely nothing and somehow turned it into

a project. Apparently I am now researching

better ways to do nothing.

That's impressive.

I don't know how to do nothing.

Nothing has terrible instructions.

No deadline. No score.

No little green arrow telling me I'm doing it correctly.

How do you know

when you've successfully relaxed?

Does somebody email you?

Congratulations.

You sat there.

Maybe I've got this backwards.

Maybe

relaxing doesn't mean turning my brain off.

Maybe mine doesn't have

an off button.

Maybe it has:

WORKING.

THINKING.

MAKING SOMETHING.

And—

pretending not to.

So I make coffee.

Open the laptop. Not because I have to.

That's the weird part.

Nobody asked. Nobody's waiting.

Nothing is due. I just thought of something I'd rather do than

sit here practicing

being unconscious.

I don't know how to do nothing.

Fine. I'll learn someday.

Probably. Maybe.

Actually— I should write that down.

Where's my phone?