Mein Sofa

My housemate has just exited my room with what can only be described as an expression of triumphant glee etched upon her face. You see she has spent the past two months attempting to induce me, surreptitiously and somewhat against my will, into a realm where words like ‘consciousness’ and ‘abundance’ are bandied about with as much insouciance as ‘salt and vinegar crisps please. An orange pack you say? Well I never’, and suchlike. I have resisted, as any small and cynical gal might do, with gusto, terror and rational yelps along the lines of, ‘What do you mean this sofa is not real? How on earth, then, are you able to explain my ability to slam my head against it?’ I discovered swiftly that utilising aggressive questioning as my main form of defence was not only futile but encouraged further debate as to whether, indeed, my head was making contact with the sofa at all. Apparently the sofa is only particles. And these particles are constantly moving and disappearing. Which is terrifying. What happens if they move on an occasion when I have fallen asleep upon them? We do not even know where these particles in fact go. Possibly into another universe! And where do the particles from that universe go when they disappear? But of course. Into my sofa. Or something like that. And the universe is constantly expanding. And it’s comprised of particles. Does that mean my sofa is constantly expanding? and if it is, when I wake up, might I discover that my sofa has taken over a parallel universe? How will I explain this to my mother? I reject labels but I know that I am against aggressors, autocracy, dictatorship and randomly expanding sofas with authoritarian tendencies. My housemate believes that I am partly to blame for investing ‘meaning’ in my sofa. She whimsically cited ‘Lesson 1’ in ‘A Course in Miracles’ which, she informs me, states that my sofa actually has no meaning.

Exactly how far down the rabbit hole do I have to go? ‘Should I eat first’, ‘will I need a change of clothes’ and ‘won’t the rabbits see it as a bit of an imposition - it is their house after all. Shouldn’t we leave those rabbits alone? Don’t they have enough to deal with in the current economic climate?’ - are just a few of my questions – along with trying to understand how they manage to eat their carrots at all if the carrots are just particles and they keep disappearing into another realm. They must have to eat them really quickly. And they don’t even have opposable thumbs. If, in actuality, the carrots aren’t even particles, but ‘tendencies’ as you and that Heisenberg chap say, what’s the point of eating them at all? Wouldn’t you rather have a stir fry?

I have never held much stock with the ‘certainty’ trade. I laugh in the face of absolutes. But only when they are not looking and rarely in front of any third party as I find it difficult enough to locate my corner, let alone fight it. Thus I think the reason my housemate finds this whole situation so ticklingly amusing is that you have started a blog in which I am going to be forced to explore a topic which makes me feel about as seductively articulate as I did at twelve years old the week I had braces installed, on both my upper and lower jaws, to correct my overbite. A topic on which the only absolute certainty that I know, is that I know nothing. Which I think is the point. Where to begin?

Recently I watched that ‘What the BLEEP’ film. Whilst I found some of the documentary side fascinating, my housemate tells me that the more interested I became, the more I pounded my small fist upon the sofa, (hers that is. Not mine. Mine was busy transporting itself into another realm at the time with dubious political intention), with cries of, ‘But how can that beeeee?’ I suspect I was not the ideal viewing partner. Some of the thoughts are radical. And I have not used the word 'radical' since school when exploring the section of the history syllabus entitled, ‘Radicalism and Reform in 19th Century Britain.’ Having now been introduced to concepts such as ‘superposition’ and some of the things that Heisenberg chap said about atoms, whether or not John Wilkes was a political opportunist or a sincere campaigner for the rights of the individual seems a little bit irrelevant. I enjoyed the film. It can’t have been the same one you saw as if it was soft porn why did I sleep through the last twenty minutes and why, in that case, was Marlee Matlin’s character so darn miserable?

Whilst I am furious with you for starting this twisted game despite my clearly articulated veto on all things that involve me having to form sentences, I think this exploration will be good for me. My housemate says that within my movements of spiritual awakening I am responsible for all slightly cynical, small gals’ movements of spiritual awakening. It’s fine though because I wasn’t really listening to that bit and whilst she was talking I didn’t look at her which I think means that she wasn’t actually there other than in the form of waves of possibility. I am going to start small. This week I intend to watch the film again. Even the last twenty minutes.

Afterwards I might write on myself.

I think you should too. If you’re against that you could write on your water bottle. I can’t do that as my housemate has already written on all the water bottles. I am my only canvas now. And the cats. I could write on the cats the next time I visit my parents. But how best to monitor the results?

I learned alot last night Roberto and I thank you for it but if anyone asks I will deny it. The universe is a many splendid, particled, tendencied thing. Also some women have to dance with hospital equipment at weddings and play basketball with hyper-intelligent five year olds in order to take good photos. And, most importantly, we and seals are the only babies to be born covered in slime, which, I think means that we are all subject to being hunted for our blubber and, that, ultimately, we might have to face the possibility of being casually flipped by orca whales.

KP