How not to improve your life

One seasonably warm day after a short afternoon nap I find myself wanting to do something. Actually not just something, everything! As I don’t have a job, don’t go to school and live with my parents, doing something is not a part of my daily routine, so I found this situation slightly confusing. Somewhere in the dimmer parts of my memory exists a picture of when the last time something useful was expected of me, but that is of no use, since no one’s expectations were met that time. The need or the wish to be proactive in the context of there being a problem and you benefiting from solving it, is somewhat understandable, but productivity just for the hell of it is beyond the realm of human understanding. And yet there I was, well rested, without plans for the near and distant future and with an unbearable need to be constructive. It might have started with just a feeling that I should wake up and move to the couch, but it exceptionally quickly escalated to a force inside of me apparently trying to tear me apart.
I should read the book I bought last month, I need to fix the toaster in the kitchen, I could redecorate my room, or just clean my room, mow the lawn, finally make that laptop stand I really don’t need… These thoughts that were racing through my mind might be considered the guilty conscience of a chronic slacker, but they were quickly replaced by less common ideas. I want to make a slide instead of stairs, our garden could really benefit from a wooden ivy covered gazebo, surely I have the technology to make gold out of lead, I bet if I read the high school physics book I could figure out cold fusion…
I started pacing up and down the room grabbing anything deformable and trying to turn it into something more useful, in the short time it took me to walk across my room. An exercise in futility of course, since everything in my room has already reached the pinnacle of it’s usefulness, although for many things that peaked at useless. So I took my rampage of improvement round the rest of the house where everything I touched seemed just slightly less eager to expand on it’s functionality than everything else I thought of doing, so I quickly moved on. Caught in an endless loop of wildly nerve wrecking behavior my mind started heading south and in a moment of what is now considered stupidity, but was then regarded as pure genius, I had an idea. As a testament to the technological and evolutionary development of men I will extend my room to the bathroom with an artistic result, forgoing any sort of tools, using nothing but my body and the focus of my mind. Given that I am young and limber, there is no need for the passageway in the wall between my room and the bathroom to be any bigger than me, so I only need one good hit. The edges must under any circumstances not be straight and boring, but must expose the inner workings of the wall, thus deconstructing the modern society on the way through. Asking permission from my parents would obstruct my thought pattern and should therefore not be attempted. Finally the plan was complete. I stood opposite the soon to be improved wall, pushed my foot against the wall behind be, moved my head topside forward, my hands behind my back, took a deep breath and went for it. I gathered quite a bit of speed before I hit head first what later turned out to be a solid brick wall.
I was now unconscious on the floor bleeding all over the doorstep of a new and magnificent passageway from my room to the bathroom, or as it would later be named, a slight dent in the wall.

How not to improve your life


Joined September 2010

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Artist's Description

A very short story about a transformation, a form of which many believe I should strongly consider.

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