As I sat down in my desk chair after lunch, I noticed something. My chair was facing the window, because I had turned it to reach something before standing up. Sitting in it, I observed that facing east in the middle of the room instead of south staring at a wall felt good. Really good, in fact.
And then I remembered that when cabin fever struck at any time of year, I used to move furniture around. We haven’t done that in this apartment very much, mainly because the location of windows, closets, and heaters really limits furniture placement.
So I’ve just spent the last hour swinging the desk around to jut out from the wall, played with all the finicky wires and cables that connect me to that wall and the rest of the world, and I now have a different perspective. (As regards physical location, anyhow.) A change is as good as rest, as the aphorism says, and even though we all know that isn’t absolutely true it does help somewhat.
The office certainly won’t stay exactly like this. It needs better arrangement, for one, and careful proper rerouting of cables for another. HRH’s computer isn’t currently connected to the internet because this end of the ethernet cable doesn’t reach the router’s new position, but I think that can be fixed by feeding more cable up from the basement. I have less floor space overall, but as all I’ve been doing in here lately is sitting and working at the desk that’s not much of a loss. I may move it back later; I may make this floorplan more permanent. Who knows? But it feels good to sit here like this right now, and so I’m happier.
At least once a day Liam does something that hurts me enough to make me yelp at him. Some days it’s hitting my forehead with the corner of a wooden train as he whips around quickly. Others, it’s one of his booted feet stomping down with all his weight on my tarsals. Whatever he does usually leaves a bruise or a welt or a scrape. He doesn’t do it on purpose; it’s just collateral damage inflicted by a very enthusiastic twenty month old boy. It can be hard to remember that, however, when one is tired and cranky and short on patience.
I’ve been looking for some of my books recently, and some are missing. I have a bad habit of enthusiastically pressing books on people as they leave my home, and I forget to write down who has what.
I am mighty.
Does my phone number have a “call me” sign taped to its back? Three telemarketers have interrupted me so far this evening since I sat down to work.
Eating sugar does not help. The sugar rush bit doesn’t happen; the body and mind go directly to the sugar crash. Do not pass go; do not collect $200 worth of perky focus-on-work.
I feel like I’ve been walking around asleep for the past two days, which is a bad thing. I couldn’t stop yawning last night at orchestra, and when I try to remember something from the past forty-eight hours my mind’s eye sees it through a sort of odd distorted filter. It’s just general exhaustion that has accumulated over the past ten days. Too, Liam seems to have recently developed an extra level of energy that makes being at home with him and keeping up with his antics that much harder, despite his ongoing awesomeness, as well as a new edge to his mood that pushes the limit of patience (both his and mine).