Is there danger in your living room? Do you even know its there? Maybe it has you right now...and you don't even know it...I blame this hidden danger and all it's evil. They may look innocent, but they are vindictive and controlling and masters of karma.
Maybe it's a chair.
Maybe it rocks into your trust.
Maybe it's the corner of the couch. Cushy pillows, soft comforting blanket, and squishy ottoman for those tired feet.
Maybe it's a stressless chair with a cuddly lap dog, in front of the roaring air conditioner.
They look nice. They look welcoming. They look and even feel like they love you. They lull you into a trusting ease, making you forget all the things you have to do.
Are you aware of this danger? Do you know what it can do? Are you under it's dangerous spell, even now?
What do these sacred spots have in common? They suck productivity. Steel time. They convince you that you are too comfortable, too relaxed to get up. They whisper sweet lies to you.
"You worked hard today, put your feet up. Just relax..."
"Just a few minutes, that's all you need. That's it, reach for the remote."
They trap you in their vortex and you will never know.
I have one too.
My chair of DOOOOOMM! And I blame it for everything.
Does it look nice?
It is.
It has squashy arms. Nice lumbar in the back. It rocks
back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth,
with a soothing rhythm. It leans back so completely it could be my bed and I could sleep sweet dreams.
If I let myself indulge in 'just a few minutes' I find myself coming out of a television induced coma several hours later swearing at myself for the lack of productivity, for the lateness of the hour and the dread of still needing to move the oldest out of my bed and into her own.
Ive gotta work. All day long I am a single mom, then at night as the sun sets gloriously on a distant horizon I continue to work. I must work. I must work through the physical pains, headaches and stress. I have to make a living for my girls. I have to support them.
But I am tired. I don't sleep and I walk passed that chair and it beckons me with a little rock and a nod.
Like the hot guy at the bar drinking a scotch, neat and he's eyeballing you and that dress you weren't sure you could pull off.
I've been strong though. I've avoided the chair of doom. Two nights ago after a long and difficult day the chair was making every effort to entice me. It yearned for me. But I refused.
I defiantly pulled out my wire and beads and began to work on earrings, perfecting my craft, for my first Seattle Sounders game. (My sister is super hard core and was very clear about the bedecking that was needed.)
I am very excited. Before I married my soccer hating husband I played and watched it constantly.
Twelve years later I am totally out of the loop.
So away I worked. Carefully beading, twisting, cutting and crimping and then the chair of doom got mad. It was feeling neglected. It had not been loved by me in days.
I had been avoiding eye contact and the chair noticed.
That's when the chair used its power.
Suddenly my bowl of teeny tiny beads tipped. In slow agonizing motion I watched as hundreds of little sounder blue beads spilled all over the hardwood floor.
They scattered everywhere, like sand from the beach or glitter from your five year olds preschool art project.
(I would insert a picture of the devastation, but I was too angry.)
I nearly cried.
These beads were expensive and I am penny pinching as it is and no bead was to be lost.
So there I was, only one pair of earrings completed and near midnight, on my hands and knees collecting every last bead from every nook, cranny and divot.
Every. Single. Last. Bead.
Then when I was done and I stood up to stretch my back and rub my knees, there it was. Staring at me.
I had neglected the chair. I had angered the 'take a break' gods, and I was punished.
It was mad at me, and I was mad at it. We gave each other the silent treatment.
All day long it sat in the corner, alone. I glared at it bitterly and it sulked.
Yesterday with the girls was better. The baby let me sleep in a bit and when they were all in bed I was able to make a few pairs of earrings and even unburden my soul with some writing.
So, In an effort to appease what ever god I have angered, I write this post to you, from the comfy chair of doom, with the soft cuddly lap dog in my lap and the air condition blowing on my toes.
I did complete my Sounder Earrings.
My glorious sister will be sporting these.
If you see her wearing them, bemoan to her about the sweat and pain that went into their creation, it'll give me a kick.
She'll probably be confused.
I have a less impressive pair for myself.
Go Sounders!
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