Chair woman

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On the eve of New Year’s Eve it is tradition to archive important emails and papers and discard the things that are no longer useful.

How that translated into throwing away my thinking chair, I’m not sure. But out the door it went and straight to the dumpster.

Image by "dmhergert." (CC) Some rights reserved. Source: http://www.flickr.com

My thinking chair! I typed out screenplays and treatments sitting there. I researched information for articles and took naps with my dog while pretending to brainstorm. And now it’s gone. There is an empty space with a dust bunny where the chair used to be.

Oh my chair! It was the first piece of furniture I bought in this apartment. It was supposed to be a temporary filler in the living room until I was able to afford the two chairs and ottoman  I had eyed at a furniture store.  But it became more than just a filler. It became mine, because it was so ugly and uncomfortable that no one wanted to sit in it. But still, very much mine.

These are the compromises one must make when you share your living space. Although there was not much compromise.

I heard rattling in the kitchen this morning at 7:00 and smelled the goodness of a homemade omelette and fresh coffee. This type of breakfast is reserved for the weekend, never the weekday, but I thought it might have been a left over sentiment from the holidays. It wasn’t until I found myself sprawled out on the floor in the spot where my chair used to be that I realized what that breakfast really meant.

“Very funny! I could’ve broken my coccyx!” I yelled. I really didn’t hurt my rear, but I thought I would play it up to make her feel bad about pulling a prank so early in the morning.

After a few bars of that well-known song, “You’re kidding, right?” I realized that she had in fact thrown away my chair. Gone.

Somehow, deep down inside, I feel liberated from the chair. I’m a little glad it left. It was really ugly and not that comfortable. The chair has now become my greatest contribution to the cycle of death and renewal, which is really what Father Time and the Baby New Year represent.

I hope she feels the same way when I throw away her collector’s edition Brooke Shields pink hair dryer.

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