the beanbag life
i am trying to adjust to the beanbag life. all my living years i have wondered what it would be like to lie on a beanbag in a public space. now i am an academic at the university and can finally trial this beanbag life.
first off, i am not a fan. the man laying 10 metres away keeps mumbling softly to his lover on the phone. you'd think at university level, he'd know how to text. i am trying to read a book and i cant concentrate because this sicko keeps murmuring sweet nothings to his lover on the phone. get a room. i try the cbt approach of pretending he is just a bird or a frog so he'll be easier to ignore, but i remember i am also intolerant of those things.
there used to be a frog that lived in my creek outside my bedroom, and this frog'd just blabber on all night and just when you'd think he was done he'd damn start up again. i'd lay there for hours waiting for him to shut the f up, and when he did it was even worse cause then i'd be holding my breath waiting for him to arc up again, thinking, one more time... one more time... and there was no use complaining to my dad, even though my dad is strong and could have done something, because my dad thought i was being unreasonable, but really it was the frog who was being unreasonable. chit chat chatting all night, this frog was taking the piss.
and one night i decided i'd had enough so i got out of my bed and put my jocks on and stormed down to the creek. i didn't know what i'd do when i caught him, but when i did, this frog’d have something to really riddup riddup about. but as soon as the frog heard my steps he went quiet, so i had to stand stock-still til he thought i was gone. i was cold, getting bit all over by mosquitos and i couldnt slap them off cos the sound would alert the frog. after 20 minutes i finally heard him chirp, and i lept his direction, digging and ripping through the fronds where he hid but it was so dark i couldnt find him. either he’d jumped away or had burrowed underground. i clawed my muddy nails into my face. i wanted to scare the life out of every living creature on the planet. i waded into the creek unleashed my rage, spinning and kicking and punching the water with my fists.
the frog wasn’t heard again. in the morning i saw i’d caused mass erosion on the creek bank, making the pool even wider. the last thing i wanted was for it to become an oasis for more frogs so I filled it with rocks. the next night the frog was back, but he talked a little quieter, almost in a whisper. he must have thought i'd given him a second chance, even though he'd only ever had one chance, i just failed at getting him and i was only pretending i'd given him a second chance so i wouldn’t look weak. at least now the frog knew the boundaries and began to act with a little more respect. we had no further problems.
and what this recollection tells me is i need to stop being a passive victim to my foe's perverted mumblings. i am getting out of my beanbag as we speak, about to go over there and give him something to really mumble about.