My Hour

For the first time in my life, I was able to at last begin the battle against the inner demons that have plagued me as long as I can recall, because they conveniently manifested themselves as three-dimensional, wholly real objects that are bound by the rules of this universe. Though upon first glance they appeared whimsically metaphorical, the Television Set I managed to manipulate (at last!) to my will was no doubt the physical representation of the uncertainty I feel about myself and my future: the course appears to be ever-changing, yet the changes are deeply unrewarding and I find so much of what is laid in front of me stagnant and banal. Without question the Sofa I conquered is meant to be my own past. Heartbreakingly ordinary, it was the kind of Sofa (childhood!) one would pretend didn't happen if weren't for the sheer necessity of the object/concept in and of itself.

I'm not trying to say I've even begun to repair any damage that's been caused to my deeply fragile psyche over the past 22 years. I only spent an hour at it, to begin with; I can and will say with certainty, however, that I will return to the battle before the day is done. Once something this spiritual has begun, it's up to nature to decide when it stops.