Wednesday, April 14, 2004

Resistentialism

Things Are Against Us

I have many enemies. Drinking glasses have jumped from my hand, though as much could be said for the entire genus of Kitchen Wares. The Greeks compose epic poetry about the war of attrition between myself and my computer. My life is pocked by multiple skirmishes with extension cords, coat hangers, computer cables, rope, twine, wire, thread, human hair and any other elongated object able to pull the evasive manuever of tangling itself to repel me. I'd dare even say that snakes would attempt such trickery were I to lay hands upon one, but thankfully they lack the alibi the others hide behind — that of being an inanimate object.

For years now, much to the dismay of my wife, I have fought the inanimate objects back in both word and deed. When the empty cardboard box on the top shelf ambushes me while I peruse my books, it has no god to call to after I tear the flaps right from its body. The escapist detergent bottle that leaps from the pile of laundry I carry feels my derisive profanities as an aftershock to my swinging foot. The Cheerios box remorsefully watches as its oaty bowels spill out across the table and onto the floor, its plastic stomach sundered by my rage.

My black... fucking... RAGE.

I weary of this fight, but I am encouraged to finally be able to put a name to what's been happening to me. And what's more, it seems I have the entire French-speaking world as my ally; they've been using the term Les choses sont contre nous [Things are against us] for years. Does that comfort me? Sort of. It is nice to know that the good people of France, or even Quebec will help me carry my monitor to the side of the boat, or even sing songs of triumph with me as it sinks to its watery grave.

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1. Rob Weychert

04.14.04 | 8:37 AM

I have never had any doubt about the nefarious plots of inanimate objects. And believe you me, when the time is right, I'll revisit last night's puddle-concealed pothole and find a way to flatten it's tire.

Vive la resistance!