"Continue the research...."

I've been writing a bit more lately even though essays and presentations have been sneaking up on me with all the subtlety of a rapist. The story that's stuck in my head is one that's tentatively called 'Don't panic' which is the title of the Coldplay song that was in my head when the idea occured to me (Which in turn comes from a famous line in 'A hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy'). I'm not quite sure why that song inspired the story but it did (It's a very simple but cool chorus 'We live in a beautiful world.....yeah we do, yeah we do'). I was standing in some kind of wooded area and looking around (Probably trying to find any distraction to keep me from going for my lecture and I did eventually find that tap-dancing squirrel but that's a story for another post) and then somehow bits and pieces began to hit me. I eventually thought of a mentally-unstable man who believes the world is about to end and goes out for one last walk. it's a short story- unlikely to be more than five pages- but its taken an awful lot of my time. He is not a raving lunatic like some people I know but who I will not name ( I wont for example point out Seema as one such individual because I'm a man of integrity) all he wants is one last walk through the woods on a sunny afternoon pondering everything in his slightly warped brain. Maybe I just like the comic absurdity of this poor guy who feels he is the only one who knows the earth will be no more in a matter of hours and yet he empathizes with everyone around him and only wants some kind of affection from strangers. I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this story but these kinds of things are like toilet-related functions-if you don't let them out you will feel very uncomfortable. It's harder than I thought to try and put myself in the shoes of a..erm...nutter...and I know that sentence is just begging for a punchline but resist the urge I've heard it all before.
Also: I really really resent the fact that while my room chair can actually swivel-indeed more power to the bugger- I cannot glide around on it. You know the feeling you get when you sit on those office chairs and just go shooting off into oblivion? One of those 'I'm a child again whoopee!' kind of moments? Well I cant bloody do that IN MY OWN ROOM! Why oh why can't that blasted chair move?