Perhaps I should call it Paris
Jul. 9th, 2008 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceThey call it a laptop, indeed I call it the Laptop of Heavenly Perfection, but I have never yet used this machine on my lap, and I don't suppose I ever will, unless something drastic happens. I like a flat surface and a chair. What it should be called, of course, is a moveable feast.
Before this I have mostly moved it from my house to another place, where I have worked, and thence home again. Here, though - and here for a while - I find curious habits emerging. I move it around the house, I do different things in different places.
First thing in the morning, I check the e-mail and do the serious replies in my room. Then I bring it downstairs, and it sits on a low table in front of the sofa in the front room where I fiddle around on the internet and maybe play at working in between reading a book and making shopping-lists for whatever I mean to cook.
Around this time of the evening, the LHP and I migrate to the kitchen. Where I commit cooking first and then more serious work, with a glass of gin to hand and hopefully some olives (alas, for the lack of olives tonight!). And I do find this peculiar, this notion of different places being suitable for different workings, because at home of course it all happens in the office. One of my LJ-friends mocked me for not using the laptop about the house, but it had honestly never crossed my mind to do so; if I'm working at home, I'm working in the office, not down in the dining-room or sprawled on the sofa.
On holiday, apparently, it's different. I can work all over, so long as there is different work to do. Just, not on my lap.
Before this I have mostly moved it from my house to another place, where I have worked, and thence home again. Here, though - and here for a while - I find curious habits emerging. I move it around the house, I do different things in different places.
First thing in the morning, I check the e-mail and do the serious replies in my room. Then I bring it downstairs, and it sits on a low table in front of the sofa in the front room where I fiddle around on the internet and maybe play at working in between reading a book and making shopping-lists for whatever I mean to cook.
Around this time of the evening, the LHP and I migrate to the kitchen. Where I commit cooking first and then more serious work, with a glass of gin to hand and hopefully some olives (alas, for the lack of olives tonight!). And I do find this peculiar, this notion of different places being suitable for different workings, because at home of course it all happens in the office. One of my LJ-friends mocked me for not using the laptop about the house, but it had honestly never crossed my mind to do so; if I'm working at home, I'm working in the office, not down in the dining-room or sprawled on the sofa.
On holiday, apparently, it's different. I can work all over, so long as there is different work to do. Just, not on my lap.