Two 10-Minute Exercises – Upon entering a room (happy and sad versions)
(LWG Exercise 06-08-2019)
Entering a room (with a happy perspective)
I walked in and looked up – the ceiling could do with a coat of paint… perhaps, even an overcoat; maybe a thick trench-coat. I chuckled.
Well, at least our eight-legged friends were enjoying their lofty playground – I could just imagine them hop-scotching across a numbered grid.
Come to think of it ‘that’ was an image that didn’t quite work – ‘two legs good (at hopscotch): eight legs four times better…?
Ha! I would leave that mathematical conundrum rolling around the empty corridors of my mind. I was happy for the spiders; they were probably indifferent to the plight of all mankind, not just me.
‘It’s one small step-ladder for man;
one giant leap-frog for mankind.’
I was in that sort of a mood.
I pulled out a chair and sat down – much better than doing sit-ups.
The room had seen better days – and, admittedly, it had almost certainly seen far worse ones. If Charles the First had visited this space would he have thought of the illustrious being that would follow in his footsteps nearly four centuries later?
I giggled at this, and thought:
if you can’t keep your head
whilst all around are round heads
then you will just have to be relevant in the
memory that you leave behind.
Wasn’t there a portrait of him just down the stairs?
What a Charlie he had been.
Entering the same room (with an unhappy perspective)
I walked in and looked down – the floor was dank, dreary, dusty. Scuff marks had left a series of black lines that looked like somber crossings-out or redactions upon the tarnished surface of the dry tongue and not so groovy floorboards.
A layer of something vaguely human skin-cell like coated the furniture – it pays to clean otherwise the flakes of humanity build up and can create dust-bunnies in a room. Dust-bunnies? Yes, evil little critters with dark red eyes, they live under tables and in the knot holes of skirting-boards, waiting for a chance to steal away the joyous life of a happy chappie, leaving only a deep pit of loss and a numbness that feels like a curtain hanging by its neck, swaying morbidly from a wooden pole as the life-force drips from the drop… one. molecule. at. a. time.
My eyes settled upon my feet; which seemed to be sinking into the wooden floor surface – that may not have been likely; but, it now turned out that it was possible.
I awaited my descent into the fabric of this room with all the enthusiasm that I could muster – which was none.