Three Things Not to Think About
by Lynn Beighley
Wait until you are home alone at last. Put the dog outside. Close the cat in the room down the hall, where you can't hear her mew to be let out. Turn off the television. Switch off any devices playing music. Take the phone off the hook. Turn your cell phone off. Step away from the computer. Eliminate any distracting noises.
If it's dark, turn on a bright light. If it's light, open the shades. Get rid of as many shadows as you can. Take a chair from the kitchen table, and turn it to face a blank wall. For best results, make it a white wall.
Sit in the chair and stare at the wall. But, instead of looking at the wall, and rather than allowing your eyes to drift to the tiny spider in the corner or the smudged fingerprint in front of you, make your eyes lose focus. Do you see them, your floaters? Watch them drift, and see how they move each time you blink.
And now listen to the silence. Do you hear the ringing of your tinnitus?
Does your awareness of them distract you? Do you notice that you are no longer thinking about him? Can you keep yourself occupied with this ballet, this concert? Because, like floaters and tinnitus, you shouldn't think about him. But you do anyway.

I love this. Plain and simple, nothing profound to offer except that I hope you're sending this out. *
horror of the small hours here. grateful i'm not the only one who thinks about floaters. brill.
Loved this and how you set it up.
Floaters, great idea.
Loved this!
*
Nice use of the imperative here. I like how you build up to the ending.
Thanks everyone! Your comments help me ignore the floaters. Did. Drat.
Painful to read. We've all been there, minus a few floaters
Love that last line! *
maybe after enough floaters, you may forget him.
Sad, but so good.
Love the frantic pace, the underlying knowledge of the futility in the attempt to deny. Nice work.
Not thinking is the hardest thing to do...*
So glad I came across this via Sunday's Fictionaut Nugget.
Love this!
Not sure how I missed this one, but I love it. Having floaters (no tinnitus, thank goodness) you set the age of the narrator which puts urgency in the final lines of the man now gone. Very well done.
Thanks for that. Bloom is when the senses you have keyed up one by one in the reader finally and corporeally agree just what the hell is going on here.