(*) Who am I, asks the chair?
I am a 2nd-hand armless office chair bought for $5 from Vinnies over a year ago on the NSW Central Coast. My first journey was being hand-carried across the railway bridge in plain sight of everybody. My seat and backrest are white vinyl, whilst my legs and frame are a corroded chrome-steel. I squeak, and I rock back and forth when I'm not supposed to. My four black plastic wheels are stubborn, yet they support me solidly. The nut that should hold the bolt on the rear of the backrest is missing, so it is by faith that my back stays put. The occasional push of the bolt back into place sets me right again.
I have two cushions atop my white slightly-padded vinyl seat. One is a glorified coloured mat, whilst the other is an old squashed cotton waster cushion-thing, covered with a faded purple cotton cover. They help the backside remain relatively comfortable whilst I am in use from day to day. My backrest has an extra supporting cushion tied across its' front - a brown cotton-waste thing, hidden with a hand-sewn blue cover overthrow across the back of my backrest. This stops the cushion on the back from getting all mangled, and also hides the horrible plain mottled whiteness of my vinyl coverings. The rest of the room in which I dwell is mainly dealt in various shades of blue, hence the blue cotton back-covering that adorns me. I may be pre-loved, but I feel comfortable, at home, and useful.
I feel I am loved, needed and wanted here. It's nice having an ample bum to cover me on those long cold winter/spring nights. I slide away under the desk at the end of my time every day, out of harms' way. I feel comfortable in my clothes of blue, purple and white - refreshingly originally so. Thank you for allowing me the privilege and honour of writing my ongoing story as the days, weeks, months and years progress together. I hope I can remain the long-suffering servant who enjoys his task of being a capable and sufficient support for my owner in his daily writing tasks.
Now, if only I could get him to type properly...
I have two cushions atop my white slightly-padded vinyl seat. One is a glorified coloured mat, whilst the other is an old squashed cotton waster cushion-thing, covered with a faded purple cotton cover. They help the backside remain relatively comfortable whilst I am in use from day to day. My backrest has an extra supporting cushion tied across its' front - a brown cotton-waste thing, hidden with a hand-sewn blue cover overthrow across the back of my backrest. This stops the cushion on the back from getting all mangled, and also hides the horrible plain mottled whiteness of my vinyl coverings. The rest of the room in which I dwell is mainly dealt in various shades of blue, hence the blue cotton back-covering that adorns me. I may be pre-loved, but I feel comfortable, at home, and useful.
I feel I am loved, needed and wanted here. It's nice having an ample bum to cover me on those long cold winter/spring nights. I slide away under the desk at the end of my time every day, out of harms' way. I feel comfortable in my clothes of blue, purple and white - refreshingly originally so. Thank you for allowing me the privilege and honour of writing my ongoing story as the days, weeks, months and years progress together. I hope I can remain the long-suffering servant who enjoys his task of being a capable and sufficient support for my owner in his daily writing tasks.
Now, if only I could get him to type properly...
Cyalayta
~ Foot'n'Chair ~
http://footchair.blogspot.com
footchair@malnews.cjb.net
| What we have not named
or beheld as a symbol escapes our notice W.H. Auden |
posted by Mallard on Thursday, September 02, 2004
~ Email ~
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1 Comments:
Sooooo... when do we get to see a picture of you, mister?!? I can't wait!
(From: a secret admirer)
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