It started with an asterisk for a footnote1 that wasn’t there.
The Library of Babel*
No explanation or meaning, it was just present. That was enough to set off the chase.
I looked it up, The Library of Babel by Jorge Luis Borges. The infinite library of books and the meaningless meaning. The crack in the wall that leads to the void.
Rabbits
Two years ago I find a novel called Rabbits in a bookstore. I buy it without hesitation. It knows something. The invisible footnote feels like a continuation of Rabbits.
Then comes The Book Censor’s Library that includes more rabbits in the book and all of a sudden coincidences pop up out of the rabbit holes without explanation. Frequency bias.
At some point, I realize I’m not collecting books or chasing patterns. I’ve been chasing the rabbit down so many rabbit holes.
Muse
The muse, a whispering, taunting b**** who never stays long enough to be caught. Muses are supposed to be encouraging, supportive and inspirational. That’s a lie. She’s elusive, teasing. She runs just far enough ahead to keep me curious. The moment I think I’m close? She vanishes. Laughs. Dares me to keep going.
It’s seductive. Addictive. Exhausting.
And then it clicks.
The muse and the rabbit? Same creature.
She isn’t here to inspire. She’s here to distract.
She isn’t showing me new paths. She’s making damn sure I never finish walking one.
The rabbit leads me to ideas I don’t complete. Projects I don’t archive. Trails I don’t return from. I feel clever and engaged at the same time, but I never arrive. I never hold anything real in my hands.
That’s not art or creativity, that’s a loop and a trap. A very elegant form of procrastination.
And I’ve had enough.
The muse, the rabbits, the asterisks, the footnotes, the URLs have been dressed up as inspiration, but they’ve been feeding on my attention like parasites. They give me a dopamine hit, a puzzle to chew on, an itch to scratch but never a direction. Not a conclusion and certainly not a finished page.
And now I’m staring at the wreckage of my focused thinking,
“Did I chase because it mattered or because it was easier than committing to something that does?”
The muse is not my collaborator.
She’s a saboteur unchecked.
The rabbit is not my guide.
It’s a clever form of procrastination because it feels like progress.
I am researching, right?
I am discovering, aren’t I?
But I know the truth.
I’ve followed them so far off-course that I’ve forgotten where the hell I was heading in the first place.
I want to stop chasing. I want to look that cotton-tailed muse in the eye and say, “You don’t get to own me anymore.”
I want to moon the muse. Bare-assed and unapologetic.
I want to slam the door behind me and let her figure out how to open it with her paws.
Because I’m tired.
Tired of being led. Tired of false epiphanies. Tired of inspiration that disappears when it’s time to actually do the work.
So I’m stepping off the path and climbing out of the rabbit hole.
Maybe for a while. Maybe for good.
Let her run. Let it scamper away.
I’m staying here, where it’s quiet, where I can hear myself think, and maybe, finally, decide what I want to do without her paw prints muddying the trail.
She knows me. Intimately, like a lover who memorized all of my tells.
She’s not guessing. She’s counting on that glance back to her.
Because she’s not just elusive, she’s a calculated tormentor.
She wants me to walk away… but only far enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I missed something. Then she scampers and I am left there feeling like Elmer Fudd.
Not out of reach. Just far enough that I can’t help myself.
I’ll sigh.
I’ll roll my eyes.
I’ll curse her.
And then I’ll follow.
Not because I’m weak, but because I’m wired for this.
Because that sideways glance isn’t surrender, it’s a renewal.
She laughs because she wins again.
But I laugh too.
Because deep down, I love the game.
And that, for now, is enough because, honestly? I don’t know what to do right now.
Challenge: Go to a bookstore or library and choose a book entirely at random. Close your eyes, spin around, or grab something from a genre you never touch.
Why? This forces you to step outside of your reading habits and find something completely unexpected.
