The difference between this picture and me, aside from the fact I’m not that skinny, is that I’m ready to pull the trigger on my laptop. Not a desk PC like in the pic, but the laptop with the broken wireless function that turned it into a desk PC. And I’d really pull the trigger, too, if I didn’t have so many things stored on this contraption.
Maybe when I get my new one and successfully transfer everything from here to there, I’ll take this thing outside and use it for target practice.
What I call my desk in the living room, with the fireplace to my left, the wonderful wall of windows to my right, and the TV playing softly in front of me, isn’t really a desk. It’s a drop-leaf table that barely has room for my puter, reference books, notepads, and Cuddlebug (who figures the table is just as much hers as mine). My real desk is in a back bedroom and faces a wall with my awards and a clock that needs a new battery. I sit on a padless metal folding chair, because my big fancy desk chair doesn’t fit back here. I was stuck in this room for years before I discovered the liberating effects of portable computers.
Laptops. WiFi. Oh–and cordless phones! No longer are we wired in place by things we’ve come to need and depend on. We’ve become so spoiled that some of us get downright cranky if we have to sit in a cold metal chair and stare at a wall for inspiration. This chair doesn’t even swivel! I can’t turn to look out one of the tiny windows in this room without having to physically move my body, which is spoiled to my rocking, swiveling, leather desk chair.
Oh, wait. This is supposed to be about how “we” are so spoiled. It’s not supposed to be a solo whine fest sung in my rusty alto voice.
Face it, we are spoiled, right? I mean, some of my earliest pieces as a writer (albeit not a serious one) were typed on an IBM Selectric III with a handy-dandy erase button and ribbon cartridges that had to be changed at the most inopportune times. Since my dad had to type his reports on an old manual that took brute strength to depress the keys, I figured I had it great. And before his machine, folks were restricted to ballpoint pens, and before that, quills, and before that . . .
Well, I’m not going to recite the entire evolution of writing materials, but it’s true, we have it good. Even if we are stuck at a desk in the coldest room in the house, we still have it good because we have internet. If you really want to hear me whine, let my satellite internet service go out because of the weather.
It just dawned on me. This post may not make much sense, because I’ve had only one cup of coffee. I have to go all the way through the house to the kitchen for another. I didn’t have to walk so far from my other “desk.”
Okay, that settles it. I admit. This is about how spoiled I am. Forgive me as I lift my voice in a solo whine fest.