Ten minutes later I walked back into the lounge, forgot the light bulb had blown and tried turning it on again.
A further 20 minutes passed and I entered the lounge for a third time, forgot the light bulb had blown and tried turning it on again. This time not only did the light fail to illuminate but I also kicked a chair in the process, leading to both a dark room and a sore foot.
I haven't been in the lounge since as I fear it is dangerous.
I also fear that if left for too long on my own I may begin to construct this series of events into a loosely knit metaphor that I can somehow phrase so that it makes sense with regards to my life.
I do this with a lot of things; it's an issue.
Just the other day a large man left the supermarket carrying a newborn baby. A woman, wearing unusual dungarees, went, "n'awww," upon sight of said baby and the man smiled and went on his way. To most this is nothing more than a thing that happened, a thing that happened that will likely be discarded from memory as soon as the moment has passed. This did not happen with me. With me I stood there for a few moments and decided that the man and the baby represented my life; the man being my ambition and the baby being the amount of that ambition I have currently achieved. The woman who found the baby so cute was simply patronising my attempts to further enhance my grip on this ambition and the fact she was wearing such odd clothing meant that even those in the world who others may mock still have a better shot of getting anywhere in the world than I.
Then I picked up my shopping and left.
The light bulb incident is being given time to stew as we speak and I'm concerned that if I leave it any longer it may begin to send a tempting scent across the air and into my conscious. What if that light bulb was signalling my attempts to do something and the fact it didn't work yet I kept on trying shows that despite my commitment to the course I will ultimately end up frustrated and bitter by the whole process? What if when I kicked the chair it meant that along the way to achieve my goals which, as is now apparent, are far out of my reach I will experience pain and misfortune?
What if it relates to:
Work, love, hat choices, dinner, friends, haircuts, rejection, putting white shirts in the wash and seeing them come out pink?
What if my entire existence can be explained in one little story about a light bulb not working?
That'd be a sad life.
I hope it is not the case.
Last night I had a dream. In the dream you were dead. You aren't specific, because you could be anyone. In my dream you weren't specific either because you weren't ever really there, just like the light bulb. Oui?