Stephen Mejias

Today, the gentlest sunshine is replaced by relentless rain. The sound of great waves rising along rocky shores is replaced by jack hammers and angry street noise and other wasteful stupid, stupid shit.

Sometimes, I feel as though I use a lot of words to say nothing at all.

"Don't stay too late," JA says, on his way out of the office.

As I mentioned yesterday, I had, for some time — long before acquiring a hi-fi, in fact — fought the idea of placing my couch against the rear wall of my living space. When I finally did, however, I found that things both looked and sounded different. And not only different, but: better. And I'm not confusing the two. So, what's up with this?

Kelli's never been too happy with my orange Ikea couch. After all, she has her opinions on what a couch should be. First and foremost, obviously, a couch should be comfortable. Aiding in the comfort of a couch, Kelli tells me, are things like arms and backrests and cushions made of soft fabric. All of these things work together to provide a soothing place for resting one's head and supporting one's legs after a long, tiring day in the office. My couch, however, lacks these things. To a certain degree, I'm proud of my couch for maintaining its individuality — its unwillingness to conform to society's standards of what a couch should offer and be. My couch is a rebel.