The Power Chair and a Dead Battery

Surprise, I'm behind on my blog again. I have this idea for a larger blog project (on this blog,) but the amount of drawing it involves is frankly, quite daunting. On top of that I've spent the past two weeks working and working. Which is troubling and outside of my normal routine. Normally I just pretend to work and drink coffee--imagine my surprise when the coffee was gone--and I was still working. Mainly I've just been applying to jobs and writing letters and emails to people, essentially begging for jobs or further education. Of course my problem turns into a whole new monster of actually knowing what I want to do, and all the things I'm applying for not being that. I suppose money, to a certain degree, outweighs happiness, I just don't know when I became this person. Probably when I realized I was turning 25 soon and had real life to attend to. I'm not trying to start a pity party off here, nor am I making excuses. I'm writing my excuses out for you--they pretty much made themselves. (Self-coalescing excuses, they're possible, I swear it.)

My goals for today were exceedingly simple, I made them that way in some vain hope of actually getting them done. Write a blog (check,) write a few emails to various editors to maybe get some freelance work (check,) write a reference letter for...

And that's how it actually happened. My computer shut off in my face. Of course it did. Because technology, against commonly held beliefs and petty things such as logic, is actually zealously against the idea of progress. Anything I own works fitfully at best. It doesn't even have to be advanced technology for this problem to come into play. For example, my shower very rarely, if ever, hits that Goldilocksian sweet spot. Instead it seems to have two settings:

"Holy sh*t that's cold."

And "Aaaah what the mother !@#$--"

Both of which just end up being painful.

So needless to say (but I will, oh I will) my computer shut off again. So there I was, alone in a cafe, staring at two men as they typed away furiously on their fully powered, plugged in laptops. And I hated them. I hated them so much. But they had the Power Chairs, and I was just a man at a cafe table. Weak and without working, powered, technology.

I think the term "power chair" may confuse some people. It's not exactly a throne, nor is it one of those scooters that promised old people independence and fulfilled life long dreams.

No, it's a simple chair, near a power outlet. So I can do work. Like an adult.

As you can see by this blog actually being finished and posted, I eventually got the power chair. Maybe it was because he was finished with whatever he was doing, or maybe it was because I was staring at him angrily from a few feet away. Who knows, but he left, and I, with Gollum like speed, placed my ass in the best seat in the building.

I won't lie. It's not that comfortable of a chair.