December 31: where I sit

There are seven places where I like to sit in my flat.

My preferred seat of the moment is at the end of my sofa from  where I can peer down my corridor to see if anyone is coming (who could be coming?). The sofa has a wide arm on which I can set my drink. I can adjust the Venetian blinds behind me for optimum reading light. To my left and within reach is music on top of a bookshop of recently acquired books. The only disadvantage is the proximity of the kitchen and its noisy fridge and washing machine. Also, I can’t watch the telly from this seat.

To watch the telly I make use of my second faviourite seat, which is an armchair. The problem with this armchair is the problem of much modern furniture. It is too deep and my bottom cannot reach the back of the chair which for best back care is where my bottom should be sited. As this is also a leather armchair, when I try and push towards the back of the seat my pants are unable to retain grip and I slide forward. Havoc! For both back and digestive system. Still, I can see the telly from this armchair.

Sometimes, to vary my posture options, I sit cross-legged on the rug. This is a noble effort to help the back but I rarely spend long down there. This is my third seat.

My fourth seat is on the side of the bed. Sometimes, late at night, early morning, or even mid-night, i sit there and have metaphysical ruminations. I bow my head and contemplate my legs, which are perhaps one (or two) of my best features.

My fifth seat is in the office where I type this text or check my emails. I have to do this in the office bacause, despite the claims of Infinity, I seem to be unable to get WiFi, so I have to plug the computer up to the box with the blue lights telling me I can get WiFi. The office seat is meant to be where I perform writerly duties but It is not. I use the office mostly for drying clothes.

My sixth seat is the kitchen table for eating. For eating I face away from the cooker which has helped in the preparation of the fare. It is as if I do not want to be aware of the labour that preceded it but rather prefer to put cooking and eating into seperate bubbles. Why would I want to do that?

My seventh and final seat is on the opposite side of the kitchen table. That is where I accomplish my non-internet writerly tasks. Here the wall is behind me. Nobody could creep up behind (who would be creeping up behind?). I plug the laptop in over my shoulder. I have as much current in it as I could need. I can look obliquely out of the kitchen window for inspiration or dstraction. I am in the kitchen, at the heart of the operation that is my life. What better seat could I require? Sometimes, when I feel well, I like it here best of all.

These are my seven seats.

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