Down with Desks

I have been experimenting with sitting at a desk. I have never really done this. I’ve never liked them. In school, the little chairs attached to the blonde wooden boards we would lean over to write on held our tiny bodies in a hard plastic unsympathetic embrace. I yearned to release myself from them. They felt like jail. They were like an incomplete shackle, which would bound, surround and cripple all the same – a bear trap frighteningly and tenuously laid open ready to snap its jaws around you without warning.

This new place I have moved to has a desk, a sturdy bed, a blanket with a small label claiming the warmth of the thing was representative of God’s love (!) so of course, immediately I wrap it around my legs – god loving up my legs warmly in fleece. There are new friends and old friends nearby. It was good choice giving way to better decision and I am glad, and I have taken to all these charming things except for the desk. It is kind of high for my arms, so I feel like I am on a harley with ape hangers – the high handlebars that always looked like a moustache to me. The ache it produces in my back is minimal, but I feel it grow with each word typed.

Learning to live in a new home is never easy and I do it with such frequency and complaint you might have thought id gotten used to it by now, just by doing it and describing in despicable detail what I don’t like about it.

I am fucking hating the desk and moved the laptop to my knees where they belong.



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2 Comments. Add To The Mix…

  1. Dang Margaret, sounds like some kind of capital punishment in a convent, the only thing missing is sister Mary of holy redeamer, holding her riding crops and such.

  2. hey margaret — sounds like a boring imposition of inquisition, but i love that japanese and some people in europe and maybe a few amerians finally trickling in — relative to such a shitty, homophobic venture over the years — kind of like sitting at a desk in an ill-fed setting with junky pedophiles swaying the vein of libraries hitting rock bottom like poor liver functions and people joking about concentration camps as their notion of sitting in meditation is more akin to medication — as 10-20 years later, it begs the question — do you think that being silent all those years regarding hate crimes, racism, chauvinism, and living large as the fast-food nation trying to super-size everything — you don’t feel responsible for such STUPID documentaries and trying to take other people’s work and calling it volunteerism?? i’ve had some incredibly stupid cunts in my life and i hate them just as much as the stupid desks in libraries conjured up by a shitty south beach diet with alcoholics, junkies, and pedophiles. thanks margaret. it seems that knees and a lover are more well suited than a laptop with the pathology of this sick culture let alone the sheer stupidity of “don’t ask, don’t tell” and its remnants, as asking someone — are you christian?? NO, i’m catholic. who knew religion was a country club??

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