Comfort

I find being comfortable hard. It gets very complicated, with many difficult equations of cushions and vertabrae and clothing to take into account, often leading to me creating a kind of nest of blanketed cushions, pillows and armchair, which looks likely to swallow me without anyone noticing.

Assuming positions like this brings about a new type of distraction: people. "Are you comfortable sitting like that?" "That looks uncomfortable, here, have another cushion". I mean, I take the cushion of course, but it ends with me balancing atop a mountain of cushions and armchair, making the problem of getting more food or turning the radiator down into a task of epic proportions, more in line with descending from a mountain peak that a simple movement. Except in this case, the mountain is made up of cushions that are just praying for the chance to betray me.

Another problem is that I live in Britain. This is kind of a big problem. You see, its a bit cold here, but for some reason in my house we pretend its not, and refuse to turn on the heating in the morning, leading to a daily struggle between me trying to move a spoon to my mouth, and my muscles trying to shiver my way into a warmer climate. Now, waking up in the morning at 7 is bad. Risking hypothermia is bad. Combining them is very, very bad, especially when I was up the night before because of a schizotypal dog next door.