I Hate This Chair

I hate this chair. I've been sitting here with the same view for days. It's strategically placed in the most awkward space with gaping doorways that allow the optimal amount of sound to race through here in a Feng Shui nightmare. The lighting is awful. The seat is hard. I hate this chair.

I hate this rug. It has been pressed underneath this table for years. After unsuccessful attempts to keep it straight, it has bunched and hunched (like my poor back in this awful chair). I cannot extend my legs without bumping into it's heaving mass. I can't take the time to fix it. I have to tolerate it. I hate this rug.

I hate this chandelier. Its cheep manufactured bronze structure holds heavy glass prisms that seem to only reflect glare into my eyes while keeping the room fairly dark. In luminous acrobatics this chandelier also casts light onto my computer screen at any angle making me feel as though I am taking it all in through insect eyes. I hate how it illuminates the tips of my eyelashes. I hate how it makes me feel tired. I hate this chandelier.

I hate this clock. It ticks away my minutes, precious and few. It dances and spins as I struggle towards completion of my Sisyphean tasks. It rolls into quadruple zeros like a boulder casts large stones downwards to the base of the mountain. I hate every minute I have wasted. I grind my teeth as I tick items off in completion while I scratch more in to existence. I hate this reminder of my mortality. I hate this clock.

I hate this mess. A reminder in proxemics of how much my work has taken over my life. My blockade of notebooks, wires-like dangling appendages, evidence of children, and promises to be filled, do more to keep me in than keep anything out. My maternal urge to purge this unsightliness is trumped by the weight of the second hand which pins me to my seat. I hate this mess.

I hate this room. My prison unto myself. The cage that I fight against, a space I cannot feel comfortable in. The place where the treadmill of my mind races faster than my body is allowed. This room where I am trapped by the light, the sounds, the sights, and senses of a body that wants desperately to accomplish the goal... but resists the pain that comes with the effort. I hate this room.


-So it seems a little too early in the semester for this, but it's been that kind of week. Maybe I'll go to bed soon so I won't feel so angsty in the morning. Until then, hope my readers can find some humor, compassion,  and solidarity in this. I'm pretty sure we've all had these moments.-