Chairman of the Bored


Graham’s life is boring. Despite the frightening fact that the world is hanging on by its many gendered finger nails, in Graham’s house it was as slow as a drawn out bowel movement. He wasn’t Chairman of the Bored, according to Iggy Pop though.

Bodily waste wasn’t the problem, nor was the food going in. Graham ate far too much and failed to outweigh the old “expend more than the intake” advice. He weighed in too much. He was bored, getting more bored and fat, getting fatter. His screaming of nonsense at the TV wasn’t helping.

Graham had some issues that continued to overwhelm his daily routine. His continued overthinking, over dramatising of possible effects of the overthinking, his OCD, his distaste for distasteful things and the incredible noise in his neighbourhood. He was annoyed by some fucker leaning on his horn, drowning out today’s episode of screaming laughing kids. 

He was wondering how he’d re-organise his less that active life and a least add another chair to his two chair routine. He was a master of sit down in one, get up, walk to the balcony, then sit down in the other, eat, repeat. He’d break this monotony with an odd wee. Not that the wee was odd, just that while it was often its timing was rather irregular.

The latest excitement in Graham’s life was a dangerous visit to the Dentist. He had to determine:

  • How many thousands of dollars to spend ? 
  • How many teeth to retain or remove ?
  • How out of touch he was in thinking that the receptionist was flirting with him ?
  • How to convince the Chemist to sell him enough pain killers to survive all options ?
  • How to shop for ice cream when his mouth may be full of blood and gauze ?

Graham used to be able to dart into social situations, join or create a scene, spread love, hate or annoyance and then dash away. Some scenes he’d be so totally wasted that he’d ruined an affair or two. These days the social interactions occur in the supermarket, at work or in his own imagination. He wasn’t wasted on these occasions. Recently he had found writing short stories somewhat cathartic.

These stories covered all sorts of events, news, choices, taste, pleasure and pain. He grappled with drastic violence, sexy business, Police work and increasingly some sort of self reflection. The market for such fiction was so limited it could be described as specialised and target to a specific audience, it was and it was one of one. The website was zinging with his stories, rants and observations. The wordpress theme was the best he’d had so far and Google actually seemed to like it all as well.

Getting to the point was also becoming more and more difficult for Graham. Despite not being able to type or spell, he remained keen, although he failed to achieve the output he’d of loved to produce. The Twitter sphere and Facebook feeds didn’t burst in Graham’s favour, they tickled his edges and tantalised his ego just enough to keep him hooked. 

“What about a story today ?” … thought Graham. He’d sat watching the wind and tasting the air around him while seeking a subject, a tease, a feel, or a sight that would trigger something, anything. It did and this rambling introspective outpouring is the result.

Graham wasn’t proud, pleased or terribly keen to share but he did. After doing so he got of one chair, walked about and looked out looking for the horn tooter, at the screaming laughing kids and then sat back down in chair two.

He’d have to wait and hour or so for his dinner, he might even stretch it to have an ice-cream. If he dared live that close to the edge.