Stop Kicking My Chair

I can’t seem to come up with anything I like today. This article has gone through at least 8 different revisions, from complete erasure to a poem, to a story, erased again, to poem, to story, to embarrassing memory about a girl, to deletion, to closure, to work getting in the way of writing something, to deletion. Nothing really seems to be sticking to the page today.  Like a Wacky Wall Crawler from a box of cereal.

I could go on about my usual stuff. The lonely guy blah, blah, blahs, but I’m just as bored with it as you are. I could write about some monster living in the cubicle next to yours, “The Monster in the Cubicle Next Door”, would be the title and the monster at the end of the story would be you. OoooOOooooHhh, a twist. Take that M. Knight Shamalalamamlama.

I’m sincerely just looking forward to getting some lunch at this point. Although I don’t much relish the thought of going outside in the cold. I hate the damn cold. I just don’t like anything about it. Well, except cuddling with a beautiful woman that cares about me by a nice warm fire place. That’s something I can get into, that and I do like to play with fire. (In a safe way of course, I’m no pyromaniac or anything.) The fires of beautiful women I suppose. In that regard I’m a full on masochist who always seems to get burned.

The title of this piece has put the They Might Be Giants song; Someone keeps moving my Chair, in my head. http://www.musicsonglyrics.com/someone-keeps-moving-my-chair-lyrics-they-might-be-giants.html I always liked that song. It always made me think that sometimes the biggest problems in life aren’t all that important when compared to the smallest problems. “World hunger is a terrible issue but if I get one more paper cut there will be a freaking war”. I’m not sure that was the motive of the song, but it’s what it made me think of.

So I just erased a whole part of this rambling post. It wasn’t going anywhere. Even this far into it I still can’t decide what I’m writing about. The title was born out of a poem I started and erased about the annoyances we have to endure daily. I’ll give you an excerpt:

Quit it.

I mean it.

It’s very annoying.

Stop.

Is there lead in your shoes?

Stop it.

This time I’m serious.

One more time and…

That’s it.

I’m telling you if you don’t…

Then I thought, “damn, that’s terrible”. I had no idea where it was going or why I was writing it. So I stopped it. I think that might be something to consider for this wandering mumbling meandering piece for a Tuesday. Some good advice from the old brain box.

Besides, it’s time to get some lunch.