Her hair sits atop her head in a twisted bundle as she peers at the glowing screen of her laptop.  She can’t hear me because she’s ignoring me due to my annoying habits of distraction.  I feel cut-off from her as she distances herself from me.  I want to scream, I’ll change, I’ll be good, as she makes me feel like an abandoned pet watching its owner drive off.  

The tables have turned.  Now she’s the one annoying me.  I try to write and she fights to see what words are coming up on the screen.  I childishly hide them from her.  I start to ignore her, claiming she’s the one that’s distracting and acting childish.  Maybe the case, but I love the attention. 

Now she wants me to ask her questions to help her study.  As she leafs through my mail I ignore her as she did me.  C’mon, she asks but I continue to type like a stenographer. 

My room is such a mess.  I have boxes of crackers on the shelves above my desk.  They’re a good snack for studying, but were left in my room as a snack for when I was hung-over on the weekend.  They seem to be all I can keep down after a night of drinking.  As I look at them I wonder why I put myself through such a cruel self-inflicted sickness, and settle on the fact that I might just be sadistic.  Books of scribbled ideas and empty information sit in huddled masses waiting for their next use.  My television that it grossly out of date collects dust that I’ve been too lazy, or too busy to clean off.  There are annoying streaks that part the dust, but only show on dark scenes or on the powerless black screen. 

She’s back to studying, ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring her.  I wonder how childish a therapist would think this game of power is?  To go for the victory I want to grab the box of crackers from the shelf above her head.  I’ll delicately try to pull each cracker out without ruffling the bag within the box, but when it comes time to eat I’ll crunch the cracker in a suspiciously loud manner.  The first one won’t bother her, maybe the second one won’t, but when I keep doing it and act like I’m not she’ll get frustrated enough to say something.

I go for the box of crackers and sit back on my bed.  She pays no attention to me.  I pull a cracker from the box and crush it between my teeth.  Still silence.  She stays as quite like a summer meadow.  Another cracker, and another, and another.  I get no reaction.  C’mon, that doesn’t bother you, I shout.  I get no response and the fact that I voiced that scares me.  She isn’t real.  She’s a muse that isn’t really here, it’s just me.

I try to get back to writing but I can’t.  I lost my focus.