Ah, unwinding. That ancient ritual we pretend still works in a world that won’t stop vibrating with push notifications and existential dread.
Personally, I take the post-collapse approach to relaxation. After a long day of writing dystopian futures that increasingly resemble current events, I like to unplug from the digital maelstrom and go analog—something tactile, something real. Chop wood. Smoke meat. Stitch canvas. There’s something medicinal about repetitive manual labor that doesn’t require a login.
Other nights, it’s jazz trumpet and a glass of something older than the internet. Miles Davis for the dissonance, Chet Baker for the regret. Maybe I thumb through an old dog-eared Vonnegut or tinker with a garden irrigation system I designed in a fit of prepper ecstasy. Occasionally I’ll disappear into a replay of Mr. Show or The Larry Sanders Show, just to remind myself that satire used to be ahead of reality, not desperately sprinting to keep up with it.
And if the stars are out? Telescope time. Staring into the void helps recalibrate the ego. Bonus: the void never asks for a meeting recap.
-Geox