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By the mid-point of last week, I’d reached the stage of doing nothing where I was gripped by the endless sameness of my routine. Facing down years and years of eating breakfast the same way or doing this before doing that in exactly the same, soulsucking, mindnumbing way, I got a little deranged. I snapped. I met up with some friends at the Market and although my knee later made me pay for it, I didn’t care. It was worth it. Of course, it turned out there were other reasons why I should have stayed home…

It all started when I had a wee rant about how the adult section of my video store wasn’t accessible, kept in a room down a narrow hallway with no room for a wheelchair or scooter to make the turn.

I don’t know how I got there, but will claim as my defense that the conversation had already included a discussion on the correct method of killing/skinning rabbits, how brussel sprouts grow and a spontaneous (if somewhat offkey) rendition of the Fishhead Song. I cannot possibly be held responsible for what my mind came up with in that context.

Most of the porn I’ve seen…. Hang on. That makes me sound like some sort of porn connoisseur. Which I’m not. I’ve seen some – oh, c’mon! Don’t tell me you haven’t? Not even once? Urgh, this isn’t starting well… nevermind, there’s nothing for it. In for a penny, etc.

Anyway! Most of the porn I’ve seen tends to be devoid of plot, acting ability and usually profoundly unsexy, so really, I doubt I’d be making use of The Room, but it’s the principle of the thing, right?

My brain tends to get me into trouble. It operates too much on the ‘what if’ premise and naturally, this meant it took a wee stroll into the “what if I could get into The Room?”. What if the narrow hallway wasn’t there?

Step 1: ask clerk (likely pimply-faced, male youth) to open the door for me. At this point, most of my mind snapped into a protective fetal position, but unfortunately, the rest of the blasted thing moved too fast and completed the process with

Step 2: ask clerk to come with me into The Room to help me get movies off the higher shelves, if necessary; and

Step 3: Repeat Step 2 until I’ve found something that looks good.

By the end of this train of thought, I was not only rolled up like a hedgehog, but also gibbering in embarrassment.

It’s occurred to me that if I can’t even think it without losing my composure, I should probably not get on the barricades to fight for this particular form of access. Perhaps I should stick to posting pictures of my cat…