Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Reincarnation as an inanimate object

Sometimes I have rather peculiar thoughts. I blame this on the fact that I spend a lot of time alone (by choice) and genuinely enjoy the view inside my own head. The thoughts I think are, in perfect alignment with this blog, on everything, and are generally kept safest inside the confines of my own skull.

However today, dear reader, I will share one of my more random thoughts with you. I shall start with the back story...

Once upon a time, a couple of days ago, I was tidying my bed. This is the improved, grown-up version of tidying my room because since I was about 23 my terrible habit of letting my room descend into a worse mess than a Glaswegian sink estate has contracted to involve only certain hot spots. These hot spots change from home to home (the floor under my long mirror was a constant embarrassment in the Letch) but here in Bellevue Hill it is my SUPER-HUMANLY ENORMOUS bed that falls foul of my terrible habits of dumping stuff. (CAPS required to illustrate my point that the bed is humungous).

I think my bed is the target now because it is right by the front door. I don't live in a bedsit, and I know that sounds like a strange set up for a two-bed flat, but there you have it. It is. Its where I dump things when I walk through the door.

[aside - I think this may be becoming one of my more random and waffly blog posts...]

Where was I?

Oh yes.

Anyway so nightly I need to clear my bed of random articles like expired train tickets, sunglasses, receipts, pashminas and possibly something I nearly (but didn't) wear to work that day. A couple of days ago I was midway through this task when my mind wandered (it does that, you know) and I got to thinking about the pen I was putting away.

The pen said "Surfers Paradise" and named some hotel. Now I have never been to Surfers Paradise. It's in Queensland and I haven't yet been to the state at all. So it can't have been my pen originally. "I wonder whose it was?", I wondered. Which led me to ponder on all the places it may have been to, and the things it may have written, in its travels from Surfers to my bed.

And that was really what I wanted to talk to you about today. Because I reckoned if my (or not strictly *my*) pen could talk it may have some exciting things to tell me. So then I reckoned I wouldn't mind being a pen myself, as handbag-based travel is so much cheaper and better for the environment and I would get to see the world.

The upshot of it all was, I wondered whether anyone else had ever envied the existance of an inanimate object? Well?

3 comments:

Johnny Rotten said...

Inanimate objects don't get hangovers. Wonderful.

Kitty said...

I've never wished to be an inanimate object but I definitely want to be reincarnated as a dog. Then I would get to lie around all day, get pats and cuddles all the time and have a minion to pick up my poo. What's not to like?

Anonymous said...

Today I thought how wonderful it would be to become a dictionary!

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