Bob pushed the microwave door button. Not hard enough. He tried again and this time the door sprung open happily. He caught it before it made it through its arc, bouncing on the springy hinges like it often did.
He didn't like that microwave door button. He didn't really like any microwave door button. They all seemed so… archaic. Why did they all have to be so hard to push anyway? Microwaves had been around at least 60 years now in some form or another.
'Surely the technology to open them could have evolved just a little in that time' he thought to himself as he put the chilled mug onto the paper towel he had sitting on the inside of the appliance.
It was tea from the night before. He'd found himself entertaining an Indian girl from a bar down the road and had thought it a fine idea to finally break out some Chai that his mother had gifted him over a year previously. Chai, not Chai Tea. The girl had told him that 'chai' just meant 'tea' in Hindi so why would you call it Chai Tea? Thats about the same level of necessary as calling ATMs ATM Machines. Which plenty of people did.
"Plenty of idiots" mused Bob.
So here he was, making the most out of the un-drunk tea. Unlike the the girl who had been very drunk and had passed out on the couch long before the chai had cooled enough to drink. Bob had learned years ago that tea was one of those mysterious and blessed things that could be microwaved later and not lose any of it's quality. Tea and McDonald's cheeseburgers were the best candidates for a quick revitalising dose of microwave radiation. That was his experience. But he didn't have McDonald's much. Despite the course of events that had lead him to make his 2am Chai he was generally a pretty healthy person.
The mug had been in the fridge all day before he'd taken it out about 20 minutes before to warm up on the kitchen bench. He didn't want to crack it by throwing it straight into the heat from the cold. Now it was covered with a thick layer of condensation like the stereotypical iced beer in any number of posters, TV commercials or day dreams.
Bob put the tea in and hit the 1 minute button on the microwave before pausing his brain with a blank 500 yard stare until the beep brought him back to reality. He opened the microwave again (first try this time - small win), the mug still had the condensation on the outside but it was steaming now.
"Are you cold? Are you hot?" Bob said to the mug. "You have no idea, because you're a liquid and aren't intelligent" he went on as he put it back into the microwave for another minute.
As the appliance hummed in the background Bob wondered if other people had similar conversations to their beverages. He decided that he might try writing about it but he'd change his name in the story to Bob because all his stories were about Bob.
The microwave beeped.
Saturday, March 2, 2019
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
Fingers Can't Feel
I'm lying on my childhood bed at the moment. The room is my childhood room. It has strangely patterned dark green walls that I painted with my parents (or they painted and I assisted in a tiny capacity) over 15 years ago. It was probably closer to 20.
The whole room is probably something like 16 square meters but there's so much furniture in it that it feels small. A bookcase, this bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, a CD cabinet and the obligatory piles of old belongings in any corners or crannies created by the collection of furniture. I don't even know if 16 square meters counts as big or small but considering the single bed leaves just enough room to open the chest of drawers next to it I'm assuming it's a pretty small to average sized room by most metrics.
Above me there's a void in the ceiling where a skylight sits high above, that my Dad installed probably closer to actually 15 years ago (and it was put in at least a few years after the walls were painted). It's more of a window than a skylight as it's not opaque or anything, but there's a rolling blind pulled across it on a string that hangs down to just below the level of the rest of the ceiling. On the end of the string there's a white hoop about 2 inches in diameter and hooked onto the hoop is a two foot long wooden pole coated in black rubber so that you can actually reach the hoop to adjust the blind over the window. Standing at the door to the room and looking in the pole appears almost to just be hovering in the middle of the room.
As I said, the skylight is blocked by the rolling blind. The room's one window is also shuttered so that the only real source of light is the open door. The door looks like a typical teenagers door. Or at least typical for me and I think I only really styled it like that to look like what I thought was a typical teenager's door back when I did it.
There's a stop sign on it at around head height that I made for a school project at least 20 years ago out of cardboard and then appropriated onto my door years later. Below that is a sticker which I think came from an airline saying 'Please do not disturb' and along the top of the door something that may be a little less typical. Tolkien style dwarven runes that I made into a code with one of my best friends back in early high school which translates to 'Go away and leave me alone'.
That best friend moved to America a few years after I put the runes on my door and has since died of cancer so I guess you could spookily say that nobody living knew what they said except me until I pressed publish on this post.
As you might have surmised by now, this post isn't really going anywhere. I just wanted to put something down. I'm not depressed right now. I know traditionally I've only really opened up this account and written things when I was in a morose or despondent mood but this time it's a little different. I'm actually at my parents house in my childhood bedroom recovering from surgery. I had a herniated disk in my back that didn't respond to any other treatment and a week ago had a bit of the disc cut away to remove pressure from my sciatic nerve. I'm just staying here because Mum cooking for me is super convenient and I'm no allowed to drive (read: resume somewhat independent life) until I've had my post op session with the surgeon in a weeks time.
I've been off work for a bit over a month now which has been pretty frustrating and in that time I've mostly filled my days with watching a lot of Netflix, playing guitar (hence my fingers that can't feel), a friend's borrowed xbox, reading and even messing around with some digital DJ equipment that I bought myself about 5 years ago and promptly stopped using almost instantly. It's the longest period of time I've had off any full time job I've had since I properly entered the workforce.
The funny thing about having more free time than I know what to do with is how badly I've been using it! I probably could have learned a new language in the time I've had if I was more motivated. I could have done any number of things. And while I'm not too hard on myself for most of the sloth that I've given in to, the one thing I'm annoyed about is that I haven't taken this opportunity to write. You know how it is. Everyone has something that they'll do "One day when I have time" and for me it's always been writing. I'll write a book, or a play, or a short story. Or anything really. But I've had more time to do that in the last month than I've had for around 10 years and this, right here, about a month into my forced holiday (if you'll call it that) is the first attempt I've made... A bit of a poor effort if I do say so myself.
I read a comment earlier today that someone I've not known now for coming up on a decade sent me about my previous blog post. The post was put up a year and a half ago (because I hardly ever come on here) and in it she told me that she'd written a book. I have never met this person, I hardly know anything about her, but roughly 10 years ago when I started this thing she was the person who commented on my angsty ramblings and became a small part of why I ever logged back on. It was lovely to see that she'd accomplished that. I hope you read this one day and see how proud of you I am.
I have mixed feelings about trying to start a book. Firstly as anyone who's managed to get this far down the page might notice, I'm a bit all over the place. Secondly I like feedback and don't think I could concentrate on such a big job unless someone was reading along.
Because of that, I've dabbled with the idea of just blogging a book. Chapter at a time, chapter a week, encouragement as I go etc. The only issue I have with that idea is that it will put my ideas out in to the world in a way that I can't police. And then someone who is infinitely more talented than me may see my uncopywrited idea and steal it for his or her own and I'll become a drunk at a bar talking about how the latest big thing was my idea all along...
Of course to put things in perspective, in around 10 years only 70 people have even stumbled across this blog so maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself haha. Probably don't have to worry about Spielberg stealing my intellectual property just yet right? Yeah but I bet that's what they all say.
Ok I don't know if I'll do it or not but I don't think I'll let idea theft be the reason I don't do anything.
Might have to start myself a new blog though... This one can just stay turbulent...
The whole room is probably something like 16 square meters but there's so much furniture in it that it feels small. A bookcase, this bed, a desk, a chest of drawers, a CD cabinet and the obligatory piles of old belongings in any corners or crannies created by the collection of furniture. I don't even know if 16 square meters counts as big or small but considering the single bed leaves just enough room to open the chest of drawers next to it I'm assuming it's a pretty small to average sized room by most metrics.
Above me there's a void in the ceiling where a skylight sits high above, that my Dad installed probably closer to actually 15 years ago (and it was put in at least a few years after the walls were painted). It's more of a window than a skylight as it's not opaque or anything, but there's a rolling blind pulled across it on a string that hangs down to just below the level of the rest of the ceiling. On the end of the string there's a white hoop about 2 inches in diameter and hooked onto the hoop is a two foot long wooden pole coated in black rubber so that you can actually reach the hoop to adjust the blind over the window. Standing at the door to the room and looking in the pole appears almost to just be hovering in the middle of the room.
As I said, the skylight is blocked by the rolling blind. The room's one window is also shuttered so that the only real source of light is the open door. The door looks like a typical teenagers door. Or at least typical for me and I think I only really styled it like that to look like what I thought was a typical teenager's door back when I did it.
There's a stop sign on it at around head height that I made for a school project at least 20 years ago out of cardboard and then appropriated onto my door years later. Below that is a sticker which I think came from an airline saying 'Please do not disturb' and along the top of the door something that may be a little less typical. Tolkien style dwarven runes that I made into a code with one of my best friends back in early high school which translates to 'Go away and leave me alone'.
That best friend moved to America a few years after I put the runes on my door and has since died of cancer so I guess you could spookily say that nobody living knew what they said except me until I pressed publish on this post.
As you might have surmised by now, this post isn't really going anywhere. I just wanted to put something down. I'm not depressed right now. I know traditionally I've only really opened up this account and written things when I was in a morose or despondent mood but this time it's a little different. I'm actually at my parents house in my childhood bedroom recovering from surgery. I had a herniated disk in my back that didn't respond to any other treatment and a week ago had a bit of the disc cut away to remove pressure from my sciatic nerve. I'm just staying here because Mum cooking for me is super convenient and I'm no allowed to drive (read: resume somewhat independent life) until I've had my post op session with the surgeon in a weeks time.
I've been off work for a bit over a month now which has been pretty frustrating and in that time I've mostly filled my days with watching a lot of Netflix, playing guitar (hence my fingers that can't feel), a friend's borrowed xbox, reading and even messing around with some digital DJ equipment that I bought myself about 5 years ago and promptly stopped using almost instantly. It's the longest period of time I've had off any full time job I've had since I properly entered the workforce.
The funny thing about having more free time than I know what to do with is how badly I've been using it! I probably could have learned a new language in the time I've had if I was more motivated. I could have done any number of things. And while I'm not too hard on myself for most of the sloth that I've given in to, the one thing I'm annoyed about is that I haven't taken this opportunity to write. You know how it is. Everyone has something that they'll do "One day when I have time" and for me it's always been writing. I'll write a book, or a play, or a short story. Or anything really. But I've had more time to do that in the last month than I've had for around 10 years and this, right here, about a month into my forced holiday (if you'll call it that) is the first attempt I've made... A bit of a poor effort if I do say so myself.
I read a comment earlier today that someone I've not known now for coming up on a decade sent me about my previous blog post. The post was put up a year and a half ago (because I hardly ever come on here) and in it she told me that she'd written a book. I have never met this person, I hardly know anything about her, but roughly 10 years ago when I started this thing she was the person who commented on my angsty ramblings and became a small part of why I ever logged back on. It was lovely to see that she'd accomplished that. I hope you read this one day and see how proud of you I am.
I have mixed feelings about trying to start a book. Firstly as anyone who's managed to get this far down the page might notice, I'm a bit all over the place. Secondly I like feedback and don't think I could concentrate on such a big job unless someone was reading along.
Because of that, I've dabbled with the idea of just blogging a book. Chapter at a time, chapter a week, encouragement as I go etc. The only issue I have with that idea is that it will put my ideas out in to the world in a way that I can't police. And then someone who is infinitely more talented than me may see my uncopywrited idea and steal it for his or her own and I'll become a drunk at a bar talking about how the latest big thing was my idea all along...
Of course to put things in perspective, in around 10 years only 70 people have even stumbled across this blog so maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself haha. Probably don't have to worry about Spielberg stealing my intellectual property just yet right? Yeah but I bet that's what they all say.
Ok I don't know if I'll do it or not but I don't think I'll let idea theft be the reason I don't do anything.
Might have to start myself a new blog though... This one can just stay turbulent...
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