Thursday, 28 July 2011

Hairway to Stephen

I get attached to inanimate objects.

My first existential crisis occurred when I was about  7 years old. I was in the bathroom with a die cast toy vehicle. A yellow truck if I remember correctly. I'd managed to pry the spare tyre from it's rim, and with no conscious intention beyond wondering if it would fit, I pushed it into the overflow slit/hole of the bathroom sink. I was unable to get it back out, and the realisation that the tyre was lost for ever, and that the truck would never be quite as whole again was deeply upsetting.

I also still have a teddy bear. He sits in the wardrobe. Tattered and bald and never ever cuddled or even thought of, but I can't throw him away. I refer to it as him. I anthropomorhised ted from the age of one, and he will be with me until something happens to stop him being with me. A totem or talisman of childhood that I find myself unable to relinquish.

So also my lovely red comfy chair, that sits awaiting the time and funds and effort to be fixed. I feel sadness somehow for it rather than just about it. It feels no pain, but I feel its pain anyway. If only a little bit. I've grown up a bit since I lost the truck tyre down the overflow.

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