A Guy In Trouble

Not far from where I spend time staring at my keyboard are three recently refinished stairs from the kitchen into this room.  The handrails that would generally ensure a proper entrance haven't yet been put back.

The stairs are angled and like someone who's forgotten to take their medication, a few nights ago I approached them at a reckless speed with a glass in my hand.

From the middle step, I slipped and hit the floor sliding into the room protecting the glass but wrenching my neck, back and assorted other body parts.

I'm pretty sure I lost the baby but for a guy my age, that may have been for the best.


Look Up, Now Back To Me

After reading Lisa's searing piece about where she writes, I felt it wouldn't compromise national security much to highlight where the cracker crumbs meet the keyboard at my house.

This is where I turn my back on the room and world and spend hours at a time snacking and agonizing about sentences that will never see the light of day.  At last count, I have 33 drafts dating back to September 2006, most with the good sense to remain comfortably where they are.  There's no pride in this testament to procrastination and perhaps one day, they'll rise up and demand to be completed though presently, they don't have the strength to dare.

Because picture day is an important one, I decided to move four pens (but no paper?) and assorted other small items out of the shot.  They are now behind the plant which may explain why Nigel looks on curiously from the giant cat toy, he knows something's amiss.  The basket in the lower right on the floor has several of his and Rizzo's toys in it.  To the right is a bathroom and the left, a closet.  Don't worry, the glass is not clear in those doors but I'd still probably hear you pee if I was sitting there.  Directly opposite this desk is the family or television room proper.  This writing area is an odd adjunct to the rest of the room but I like the way it's still within and separate at the same time.

I see now those shelves above could use some arranging but cut me some slack - I only moved in 10 months ago!  My favourite distraction while writing is the rain.  I look up at the skylight wishing the sight could somehow match the comfort of the sound but it never does.

At my desk is the one place my posture reaches near impeccable heights. If the exercise was to take a shot of where I watch television, you'd be looking at a sofa comforting a man who wouldn't look out of place in Dali's The Persistence of Memory.

Another writing related fascination I came across recently on The Vegetable Assassin's site involved handwriting.  I broke the meme rules from what she posted - once a rebel...

A letter from me would generally start out looking fairly readable (see below) and invariably end with much less precision (be glad I didn't continue writing).

Several of my siblings write in what appears to be a complicated code that would find the experts up late into the night but somehow I manage to be one of the more legible of the gang.

I'm definitely curious about where you write and what your writing looks like but my Canadian ways will not allow me to pressure you on the matter.  Do as you will, or won't.