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[personal profile] desperance
Hunh. For the last twenty-four hours, it seems like all the conversations around me - whether on the internet or in my meatspace - have revolved around standing desks. To which I had barely given a thought hitherto, since laughing at the weirdness of it thirty forty years ago when I first read that Thomas Wolfe used to write standing up, using a refrigerator for his desk.

Now I am not so laughy, and I think I might improvise something with the Laptop of Heavenly Perfection, a tall dresser and an open sock drawer, just to see how I like it before I indulge in spending anything from a few dollars for a DIY set-up to a couple of thousand for something very smart indeed. I may not like it at all; though I am perfectly happy on my feet, I do generally prefer to be walking rather than standing still. And I don't at all like pubs where I can't sit down, so.

But we'll see. Maybe. I'd have to put some stuff away and clear space. Which is also not my preference, occupation-wise.

In other but related news, wandering around ergo-things has led me back to thoughts of kneely-chairs. I used to have one, till it broke beneath me; I didn't have a bad back at the time, I just liked it. Misha didn't - she was accustomed to sit on my lap as I typed, and a kneely-chair sets the lap at such an angle that you have to hang on with all four paws; she'd do it, but it didn't make her happy - but I don't have that kind of lap-cat currently, so now might be the time. And these days they come with backs, apparently...
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desperance

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