Coffee vs. Computer, Round 2



I swatted my coffee cup this morning. I had just topped it off and I don't know what happened. A demon possessed my arm like Ash before the chainsaw and whack! The mug tipped directly onto my MacBook Pro. Which is not yet two years old. And which I've been using with an external mouse because of the last time I dumped coffee on it.


This time was way worse. I mean, it's in a half-bushel of rice right now, but it's not looking good.


And I heard myself say to myself, "Self, nothing happens to you. Everything happens for you." And then I wanted to smack myself.

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But it's true. It's what I really believe, so I had to take a step back from the bucket-o-rice, which I keep on hand and call my "e-rice" for just these (frequent) occasions--and really think.


I have been saying for at least two week, "If I keep sitting on my ass all day, I am going to be in trouble." That's a quote. My back has been warning me and warning me.


As you know, it's been a busy summer. We had 40+ books to move to a new publisher, no small task, and then we got 20 books back from Harlequin, another huge pile of work. And me with a broken wrist. (No, you are never going to hear the end of the story of how I got more done than at any other time in my entire life with one hand.)


Most of that work has been done from my sofa, on my laptop. I sit cross-legged until my right hip screams, and then I stretch my legs out in front of me, because the sofa is modular and extends out on that end. Lather, rinse, repeat. And that's bad enough with my normal schedule, but this year, it's been way more hours sitting and my body is upset with me.


Bear with me, I have a point.


The other thing that's been bugging me lately is the laptop. It's awful. I use the trackpad out of habit, but during the coffee spill incident before this one, the trackpad was damaged. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it works with great difficulty. Sometimes it doesn't work at all. And sometimes it highlights things and drags them off to Neverland. It deleted Safari last week. I've been using an external mouse. But half the time I forget and use the trackpad and delete things by accident. When I'm writing it'll suddenly highlight a half a sentence and move it two paragraphs up and just drop it there. Just yesterday I said to hubby, "Sooner or later, I'm going to do something I can't fix with that effed-up trackpad." Hand to Goddess, that's another quote.


So this morning, the second major coffee spill of the year. And you know, I'm not entirely done with the busiest period of my life just yet. (Though I do have both hands now.) I could not work with my laptop buried in the e-rice.


Couldn't I, though?


I mean, I have a two-year-old desktop computer in my upstairs. I do not use my upstairs office because of my geriatric, ever-more-clingy, OCD bulldog. She needs to be on the sofa, so I need to be on the sofa. Sometimes she needs to be in the bed, so we have a desk in the bedroom. Sometimes I can convince her to come outside and let me work out there for a little while. Lance built her a nice doggy cooling area right beside my outside workspace.


So I have to be downstairs. Bulldog will not stay upstairs. That's part of the OCD. This not what we do. This is not normal. This is not the way. But I have that gorgeous desktop up there. I bought it in 2020, and I don't think it's had more than a couple of hours use all that time because it was upstairs. On my adjustable standing/sitting desk, with the treadmill under it. Hmmm.




The answer was clear. So I did some re-arranging with hubby's help, and now my stand up/sit down desk and treadmill are tucked in a corner of the living room that used to hold my Monster High Doll House.


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As a result, I'll no longer be writing on the sofa, killing my back. I have no choice now but to be at a proper desk, in a proper chair, or standing up, or even walking while working. This is going to be WAY better for my health. Secondly, I'm using a computer that's just like new, and it's big and pretty and functional and doesn't have a possessed mouse maniacally trying to delete my life.


Guess I'll file this day under "Everything happens for a reason."

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