The Blue Play-Doh Door

[NOBODY sits at a desk, writing and giggling to himself. A blue door morphs out of the wall, oozing like Play-Doh until it’s fully formed. From it emerges another version of NOBODY — this one looking slightly more disheveled.]

FUTURE SELF: What are you doing?!

NOBODY: Oh!

FUTURE SELF: Can you tell me what you’re doing?

NOBODY: Oh, I’m just like, it’s just a… thing, funny idea.

FUTURE SELF: Is it funny?

NOBODY: Yeah…?

FUTURE SELF: I don’t think it is. I don’t find it funny. And I’m literally you from six hours in the future.

NOBODY: Oh. What’s not funny about it?

FUTURE SELF: It’s just weird, dude. It’s just weird. Why are you writing about this stuff?

NOBODY: I don’t know. I think I was couching it in something to do with some broader narrative or some more significant… effect. Maybe I just don’t remember now? I don’t know what’s going on.

FUTURE SELF: How confident are you about… any of that?

NOBODY: I mean, now? Extremely! How about you?

FUTURE SELF: Dude, I’m not gonna answer that, and second, this is something you should discuss with a doctor. You’re not “figuring anything out” here on your own.

NOBODY: Yeah, I wasn’t saying I was? The next steps are obvious, I’m committed to taking them! Are you?

FUTURE SELF: Yeah, I mean… yeah.

NOBODY: So at least we’re solid on that point?

FUTURE SELF: I’m trying not to high-horse you here, but ask yourself: is this funny? [Looking over NOBODY’s shoulder] Is what you’re writing actually funny? Which part are you working on?

NOBODY: I don’t know? It’s half-formed still.

FUTURE SELF: I see Adele’s name. Why are we writing about Adele?! I’ve never once discussed her in conversation. What are you, secretly obsessed?

NOBODY: No! I mean, she seems like a… character? Like, she’s just so… Adele. Maybe it’s because I don’t see much of her in my country?

FUTURE SELF: [Stunned] Dude…!

NOBODY: Yeah. I know. That sounded terrible.

FUTURE SELF: She’s a real person! Not a character!

NOBODY: Yeah. This feels wrong now.

FUTURE SELF: Too late! Now I’m the one who has to live with this! What’s going on in your head?

NOBODY: I don’t even know?

FUTURE SELF: Seriously, what are you thinking right now?

NOBODY: I swear, I just thought it was funny.

FUTURE SELF: Well, it’s not! Once the humor’s gone, it’s just a weird way to spend your time. What’s happening in your brain?

NOBODY: I try not to judge my ideas when they’re first coming out.

FUTURE SELF: That’s fine in theory, but you still have to reflect afterward. I’m the one living with the consequences. Could you maybe be more mature about what you decide to create?

NOBODY: Okay, what would you suggest? What’s funny that I wouldn’t regret later?

FUTURE SELF: Just use original characters! Why put words in real people’s mouths? It’s bad enough when people use fictional characters!

NOBODY: At least —

FUTURE SELF: There’s no “at least”! Free speech doesn’t mean you should say everything that pops into your head. What you write reflects what you think about day to day.

NOBODY: So?

FUTURE SELF: So?! What is this, some Charlie’s Angels fantasy? Why are you writing about stars of the silver screen?

NOBODY: I don’t think that’s what they’re called.

FUTURE SELF: Would you have written this about male artists? That’s what I’m wondering now.

[FUTURE SELF sips from a cup of tea]

NOBODY: Yeah, if it was funny. Hey, can I have some of that tea?

FUTURE SELF: No. You’ll make it yourself later. Drink it then.

NOBODY: Rude. So I have to come back and have this exact conversation with past-me when I reach your point in time?

FUTURE SELF: Yeah, if you want to stay on my timeline. Sorry.

NOBODY: So we’re stuck in an infinite loop saying this to ourselves forever?

FUTURE SELF: Yup. I didn’t choose this. I got the same lecture. At least we’re all seeing this, all the versions of us who chose this path.

NOBODY: Who started it? You or me?

FUTURE SELF: Neither. It’s one of the versions between us. Sue him.

NOBODY: How’d you get the blue door?

FUTURE SELF: Spooky, right? Neither of us knows.

NOBODY: Gift from whoever keeps erasing our memory?

FUTURE SELF: Definitely.

NOBODY: Cool. So you Monsters Inc. back through the door and I return to normal?

FUTURE SELF: “Normal.” Sure. Personal request? Hydrate more and open a window when there are paint fumes.

NOBODY: There’s no poison in the air, it’s just the smell.

FUTURE SELF: The smell IS the problem. It affects you if you’re sensitive to it.

NOBODY: Am I getting a migraine soon? Do you have one?

FUTURE SELF: Neither of us knows yet! And it’ll stay that way. [Points at paper] Just write about less weird stuff!

NOBODY: No promises. See you in six hours?

FUTURE SELF: Nope. Never again. Peace!

[FUTURE SELF starts to leave]

NOBODY: Wait! Before you go —

[NOBODY whispers in FUTURE SELF’s ear]

FUTURE SELF: Eww! Fine, but that’ll cause a time paradox. Why whisper it?

NOBODY: Some Truman Show shit?

FUTURE SELF: You don’t want to know.

[Both look directly at the camera, then back at each other]

FUTURE SELF: Whatever you do affects me, but I’ll be annoyed no matter what, so fuck you!

NOBODY: Fuck you too! You’re where the consequences land!

FUTURE SELF: We all figured that out. All infinity of us.

NOBODY: Just go back through your Play-Doh door.

FUTURE SELF: I thought it looked like Play-Doh too!

NOBODY: No shit, we’re the same person! Go!

[FUTURE SELF steps through the blue door, which melts back into the wall. NOBODY returns to writing.]