My Couch

This is the day I spent all day doing nothing on my couch. Oh, I watched a biography on Jamie Foxx and another about John Ritter; I guess that was something. In my mind I stayed busy. I checked my email, read my Google Reader, viewed my Facebook, and watched a half dozen Ted Talks. At different intervals, exhausted from such mental excursion, I took two naps. The only times I left my couch were to go to the bathroom and to warm something in the microwave, which I ate while sitting on my couch.

At times my couch is much like an astronaut’s pilot seat. It is very confining, but gives me an amazing view of earth and space as I observer uncharted areas on the Internet. My control panel has a navigational device called Google, which guides me and allows me to make amazing discoveries. I keep contact with the earthlings through email and Facebook and occasionally I receive a voice call from friends or family, which is a real treat. My Google Reader keeps me abreast with the latest news. Often my spaceship turns into a time capsule. Ancestry.com transports me back in history were I find roads once traveled, but are new to me and just as engrossing as the present and the future adventures. At times I am hurled through Internet space so quickly and so engrossingly that I reach total weightlessness. I lose complete awareness of my blob perched upon my couch. It is like an out of body spiritual experience where I jump to another dimension and touch the face of God.

My aching body then flings me back to my dimension. My space capsule crashes on the landing pad of my couch as the gravitational pull on my hunk of flesh moans. I stretch trying to remove the stiffness. “Get up,” my body screams. “I can’t take this inactivity any longer.” I arise from my couch and the full pull of gravity on the weigh of my body registers the pain in my foot as a number 8. I limp to the bathroom, then to the kitchen for a sack. All along the way my foot is yelling, “Get me back to the couch. Quickly, get me back to the couch.” I respond empathetically, “I hear you. I’m on my way.” In great pain, I limp back to my couch and fling my leg up. As I eat my snack, the pain starts to let up. I consider taking another voyage into Internet space, but opt for a nap instead; I hug my couch and fall asleep. As I drift into a dream world, I am aware I have now embarked on a different journey---a journey of the unconscious mind. From my couch I can take many journeys except one- physical journeys. I have been waiting for six weeks for surgery for a blood clot in my left leg and an ulcer on a toe. Should I have this soon, I might be able to resume my normal activity and once again embark on some physical journeys. Life is a journey, but the modes of transportation are many.