I am sitting on a sofa in my living room. I will spare you an unnecessary description of my current emotions, because, that is, unnecessary. You do not need to know how I feel right now in order to read this because it is completely and utterly irrelevant and I do not even know why I brought it up.
I say “my” living room but it is actually my parents’ living room, speaking in terms of what is written down on paper – or rather, probably, what is stored on a computer somewhere. Really, I doubt that anyone can properly have ownership of anything. Ownership is a human concept. But then, I guess, if ownership is a human concept, then humans get to define ownership…
Thinking about it, animals probably believe they own things as well (for example a pigeon owning a nest, a lion owning the meat it is eating or a tiger owning territory) but I doubt they even think the words “own” or “mine”… Yes, I am aware that humans are animals as well, but I don’t think terminology matters too much in this case.
(In case you are wondering, this is not building up to anything. The whole blog post is going to be me rambling along like this…)
I am halfway through a plate of oranges. It is actually a plate of pieces of orange; I was hungry and could not eat the fried rice that had been prepared for dinner because the chilli in it was rather pungent. In fact, it was so toxic that I could not breathe while inside the kitchen without my lungs being peppered by sharp pieces of pain. I seem to be making a big deal out of this but the exaggeration here is nonexistent. I was properly coughing from the uncomfortable sensation. I had a root around the fridge. The fridge was rather like this blog post in that there was nothing of interest in there. I closed it and looked in the fruit bowl. There were two oranges. I paused and considered the fact that they might be too sour to be enjoyable, but there were not many other options so I plucked one of them out, picked up a chopping board and cut it into seven almost equal pieces. I have now eaten four of those pieces since I consumed one during the creation of this paragraph.
It is rather vexing when people try to talk to you while you’re writing.
You want to tell them you’re busy.
But you don’t want to be rude.
So you keep quiet.
There is a guitar next to me. It is waiting to be played but I would much rather write and stare at the plate with the half-eaten orange… though not at the same time because my touch-typing isn’t that good. My guitar teacher has conveniently moved to Australia… I must teach myself off Youtube videos and the internet.
There is now… pasta and pesto… waiting for me on the table…
Hang on while I go eat it.
Okay, I’ve eaten it. That was quick for you.
But it was a good few minutes for me.
The remains of the orange are still next to me, and my cat has now come to join me on the sofa. My cat? She is my sister’s cat… but like I said, ownership is…. an ill-defined concept.
Sleep deprivation is putting pressure on my eyes. The cat, unlike me, does not seem tired. The orange does not either, but it is dead. My guitar lessons are dead. The split ends of my hair are dead. Some random people around the world are probably dead. Kurt Cobain is also dead. My energy level is kind of dead.
But I will spare you an unnecessary description of my emotions.