Self-manipulation

Back in the day when the Backstreet Boys wanted it that way, when Christina Aguilera was not dirrrty (only stuck in a bottle) and I really quiero'd that Taco Bell, I would spend hours glued to the tube, jumping from big couch to little couch. I would reenact whatever I saw: X-Men, Power Rangers, Days of Our Lives, you name it. I dissected the couch eventually, and that's when I convinced myself that our couch was a pull out bed. I would spend hours clawing at the crack, gripping the couch's springs and imagining a new bouncy bed I could parachute off. The couch would of course never unfold but I just thought I wasn't strong enough to release it. Instead, I would revel at the lost and found we collected underneath the cushions. Pens, bobby pins, crumbs of our favorite snacks--three seats of junk summed up a simple life so perfectly. I suppose you can't expect anything else though from where you plant your ass.