I was sitting at my table after just having finished dinner when I was unsure as to what I was going to write about.

Surprising, I know.

I tried to find words that extended beyond a mere five sentences, yet there was nothing.

I tried to put myself into poses that would hopefully increase my ability to think.
I idly scratched my head, not realising that it was taking my left hand away from my keyboard.

Once again I was at a loss about what I should be writing about and I was not gaining any momentum.

One of my hats – a fedora – decided to speak up.
“You’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t write about something”, it said.

I’m not sure as to why my hat decided to speak up at that point. It had watched and not uttered a word in the past.

“Do you have any suggestions?”, I asked.

“I may have many suggestions. I may have none. I don’t care much for whether you’re able to churn something out or not. Your thinking disturbs me and I’d rather you go back to writing” it replied.

I was taken aback by this. How dare my hat find my thinking disturbing. It was not its place to think such a thing. Whether I am thinking or not is my own business.

“Why does it disturb you? My thoughts are my own and not yours.”

“I have to put up with them. They are far too tepid and dull for my liking.”

“Tepid and dull? My thoughts are wonderful and insightful; full of imagination, discovery, knowledge, and freedom.”

“So you say, but you don’t have to hear them all the time. There is hardly anything that could be considered original contained in your mind. It’s all variants of the same few thoughts that you’ve always had. You may be able to dress them up in different ways but that does not make them different.”

I found myself at a loss. My hat was not being very kind and I began to feel offended. It had no business to criticise what beautiful thoughts I had that I believed were private.
It did not have my permission to insult all the amazing things I dreamed up in my head.

I felt that I had to take a stand against this most unmerciful attack for I found it to be completely unjust. No hat of mine had the right to say what this one did. It had proven to me that it was not interested in assisting me with my writing.

I had to do something to protect my dignity and honour against a bit of carefully moulded attire. It may have had an opinion but it was not one that was worth lending an ear to.

Then I realised that my hat was talking to me.

I decided the best course of action was to eat my hat so no one would ever know.

It didn’t go down well.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 19:04:52
It would seem that when I go a few days without writing I slow down more than I would expect. I’ll see if I can test this out properly this week.