couch monstering (verb): to exhibit the behaviour of a couch monster; in particular to sit, lie or sprawl on a couch in a post-artistic daze.
This was the birthday card I was given by my brother and his girlfriend. For those just joining us, I live with them in a lovely house in Melbourne. We have a cat, Tivali, who is The Only Cat in the World. (She may be rudely disabused of the notion soon. We're thinking of adopting cat #2.)
The message inside:
I am a couch monster. I wish I looked as pretty as this girl while I was monstering. With butterflies shooting out the ends of my hair. I could do without the wormy tail though. It's very Lharmellin don'tcha think?
"Post-artistic daze" is highly interpretable. Hangovers count. For us artsy types in Melbourne it's practically mandatory to sit in a little laneway bar feeling equal parts fabulous and misunderstood. Till 4am. With espresso martinis. Then stumble in and be greeted by a sleepy-eyed cat who hopes you might drop your beans on toast/pizza/half-eaten Hungry Jacks on the floor. (Has totally happened. She's a lucky cat.)
What is one to do the next day except cleave oneself to the couch with a bottle of diet tonic water, said cat, and a book/audio book/a billion eps of something funny/dramatic/suitably vapid? Or a Ryan Gosling movie. Oh lord. *fans self* (Is Ryan Gosling cuter than a puppy? I lie awake at night wondering this. What about a room full of puppies? What if Ryan Gosling was dressed AS a puppy?)
Post-artistic daze could mean post-date. Oh god, dating is the work of Satan. I am not in the Satanic phase right now thank goodness. I'm in the Lord You're Cute, Do You Want To Spend Every Weekend Together? phase. Which is about elebenty billion times more awesome than dating.
It could also mean post-oh-frack-I-hurt-all-over. (Perhaps from writers' back.) Right now I hurt all over, but it's because I beat myself up at the gym twice this week. (I nearly fell off my stationary bike watching the clip to LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It" <------- CANNOT BE UNSEEN.) Twice at the gym this week. I'm practically Jane Fonda.
It could also mean post-event, or post-publication, or even (oh happy days) post-I-just-wrote-three-thousand-words-and-my-brain-giveth-out.
But SOMETIMES. Just SOMETIMES. I am actually dreaming up stories. And the best place for that is the couch. Writers apparently like to be alone, but I don't. Maybe it's feng shui. Maybe it's the extra stimulation. But I don't like to be hidden away when I work. Or couch monster.
This was the birthday card I was given by my brother and his girlfriend. For those just joining us, I live with them in a lovely house in Melbourne. We have a cat, Tivali, who is The Only Cat in the World. (She may be rudely disabused of the notion soon. We're thinking of adopting cat #2.)
The message inside:
We see you like this so often, dreaming up stories on the couch. So we thought it would be most apt as it also reflects the worlds you see. Happy birthday.
I am a couch monster. I wish I looked as pretty as this girl while I was monstering. With butterflies shooting out the ends of my hair. I could do without the wormy tail though. It's very Lharmellin don'tcha think?
"Post-artistic daze" is highly interpretable. Hangovers count. For us artsy types in Melbourne it's practically mandatory to sit in a little laneway bar feeling equal parts fabulous and misunderstood. Till 4am. With espresso martinis. Then stumble in and be greeted by a sleepy-eyed cat who hopes you might drop your beans on toast/pizza/half-eaten Hungry Jacks on the floor. (Has totally happened. She's a lucky cat.)
What is one to do the next day except cleave oneself to the couch with a bottle of diet tonic water, said cat, and a book/audio book/a billion eps of something funny/dramatic/suitably vapid? Or a Ryan Gosling movie. Oh lord. *fans self* (Is Ryan Gosling cuter than a puppy? I lie awake at night wondering this. What about a room full of puppies? What if Ryan Gosling was dressed AS a puppy?)
Post-artistic daze could mean post-date. Oh god, dating is the work of Satan. I am not in the Satanic phase right now thank goodness. I'm in the Lord You're Cute, Do You Want To Spend Every Weekend Together? phase. Which is about elebenty billion times more awesome than dating.
It could also mean post-oh-frack-I-hurt-all-over. (Perhaps from writers' back.) Right now I hurt all over, but it's because I beat myself up at the gym twice this week. (I nearly fell off my stationary bike watching the clip to LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It" <------- CANNOT BE UNSEEN.) Twice at the gym this week. I'm practically Jane Fonda.
It could also mean post-event, or post-publication, or even (oh happy days) post-I-just-wrote-three-thousand-words-and-my-brain-giveth-out.
But SOMETIMES. Just SOMETIMES. I am actually dreaming up stories. And the best place for that is the couch. Writers apparently like to be alone, but I don't. Maybe it's feng shui. Maybe it's the extra stimulation. But I don't like to be hidden away when I work. Or couch monster.
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