Nights like this

On nights like this I'm just a shell of what I wasn't before. On nights like this I'm too afraid to turn on the television, in case I accidentally sink so far into my beanbag that I morph into a bean. I manage the risk by lying lonelyly on the surface of the internet. I hate it because I can do everything but the kitchen sink, which is where yesterday's crockery sits all unwashed and sad. I hate it because I can do nothing but kitchen-sink deeper into being something that I wasn't before.

Or I could make friends with the other beans and they could teach me how they work together to make whichever shape they're moulded into. I'd be a really great bean. I'd take every challenge that came my way and I'd rise to it. I'd make the other beans proud, until they forget where I come from, where I've been. Eventually, even I would forget that I never used to be a bean. Indeed the thought would be so scary that I'd repress the idea of becoming human again. Life outside the beanbag is scary when you're nothing but a beanbag bean.