My Familiar Chair

Here I sit in my usual chair out in public, sipping my chocolate-flavored coffee drink, thinking. I am thinking about the meeting I have to go to in an hour, thinking about how in the world I will hem this pair of pants tonight that is entirely too long on me, since I haven’t sewn in years, and I know I have to iron the hems into creases first but I’m not entirely sure what to do next, thinking of how if my mom were here she would show me how (and take over if I get frustrated) because she can sew anything, thinking of how adorable E looked in his hat last night when he met me at work, thinking how peculiar people are and how fascinating as I stare at them, like for example that woman standing over there looks almost exactly like Tina Turner, thinking of Tina Turner, thinking of my brother and hoping he’s okay, thinking of my baby sister and hoping she’s okay, lamenting the fact that I must have lost the Dresden Dolls’ “Sing” song when my iBook died because I must have forgotten to back it up and I can’t find the mp4 anywhere and that really sucks, thinking of my fingernails, thinking of the fact that tomorrow it will rain, thinking of the small steps I’m taking to change my life.

I am not thinking about what I’m going to write today, though I should be.

It is a painful subject, even inside my own head. I’m skirting around it. Even though I’ve said I wanted this year to be better—to try again, and maybe succeed this time—I haven’t done much to make that happen. This particular chair has seen me through a lot. I’ve ghostwritten three YA novels in it. I’ve written (started, stopped, restarted) numerous short stories in it. I’ve started a new novel in it. I’ve stopped a new novel in it. I hope it’s still here when I’m really ready to begin.

7 responses to “My Familiar Chair”

  1. Annika! Thank you!
    And, to temporarily hem pants when you are way too short, according to my mommy:
    1. Find another pair of pants that fits and has a similar height in the waist.
    2. Turn too-long pants inside out.
    3. Put pants that fit overtop too-long pants. There is your hemline.
    4. Pin at new hemline so you remember where it is.
    5. Fold up to pins, then iron flat at new hemline.
    6. Iron lining up the same, but a little higher so it doesn’t hang below hem.
    7. Stitch loosely in at least four places.
    8. Remove pins so you don’t stab yourself.
    THE END.

  2. Your mother, your siblings, how “adorable E looks,” your vision, your writing talents are all “chairs” for you — to support you, for you to ease into, to comfort you.

    You are a lucky woman.

  3. Sometimes your mind needs to wander before it can settle and do its ‘work’ – I used to beat myself up having such a wandering mind but I’ve found if I just let it do its thing I tend to concentrate better once I start to work.

  4. Yojo, I lost your comment in my spam filter until now. And DAMN, I so needed that. Because I completely fucked up the hemming last night. You should see what I did. It’s embarrassing and I’m not sure that it’s fixable.
    Goodthomas, thank you!!
    As for my mind wandering, I do hope it comes back into focus soon! But I will try not to beat myself up too much, because that really isn’t working.

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