Inside Gigi's World

 The class observed their professor kick a chair over, cover it with a blanket like it was a small child and then walk back to his seat. They all wondered, What the hell do we do next? A light murmur of voices trying to figure out what just happened quickly spread across the room, falling silent even faster when they realize this is the writing prompt for the class today.

The sound of fingertips banging aggressively on computer keyboards fills the room louder than when the once upright chair hit the floor. I pondered to myself for a moment, What had that chair done to make the professor so angry? Did it not laugh at one of his jokes? Maybe it forgot to turn in an assignment or maybe they both just got into a heated debate about who will win the Superbowl. Maybe they both realize they are in love with the same woman, except little do they both know that she is already in love with the couch in the next room over. 

Absurd? Maybe. But is anything truly absurd when the matters of the heart are involved?

Then as the next intrusive thought comes into my mind, I wonder, What kind of mind comes up with wild stories about chairs being in love and couches getting the girl? 

I ponder for a moment if all the LSD I took in high school has finally caught up with me, which I tend to think every time I get one of these fanciful ideas ripping through the ridges of my frontal cortex—is that even where these ideas travel along? I’m a writer, not a biologist.

I liked LSD.

I liked LSD a lot. 

But people tend to look down on mothers nearing their forties who take psychedelics to write.

That’s not what stops me though.

Nope. 

It was the last time I chewed a tab and went into a hot tube. For almost twelve hours I thought I was a lobster boiling in an over-sized pot— hot and red-faced. I was convinced I was going to be eaten by Jesus. I envisioned a lobster cracker in one of His hands, clamping it open and closed, creating a thunderous roar. A seafood pick in the other, silver and sharp, like the lightning that was striking through the sky that night. His hands were headed towards me and all I could do was place an evenly cut lemon wedge in my ass, hoping His all-mighty would eat me fast enough that I wouldn’t be able to feel  it. 

I snap back to reality when I see the professor pick the chair up from the floor. They must have made amends. Maybe they both came to their senses and realized no self respecting woman would fall in love with a couch, it seems she wasn’t worth it after all. I bet they’re planning to go out for a beer after class. They’ll laugh. They’ll both agree they dodged a bullet. 

I’m glad they have patched things up but now I’m left wondering where the hell that lemon wedge went…