Adapt

I am trying my best to behave. To listen to my body and to not overdo. Although, it would seem to me that I should be the boss of my own body…and if this is indeed the case, then why can’t I just tell it to cut the crap, lose the ache/numbness/discomfort and get on with it, already??

Anyouch-

I’ve spent the lion’s share of the week trying to wade through a mountain of paperwork, return a crap-load of phone calls and attempt to find a suitable position with which to *tap-tap-tap* my way to the much-loved, much-missed land that is my second home: the internet.

This has been my uninventive setup so far:

That is my laptop on a serving tray on my bed. The phones are self-explanatory…and the mouse has to be on something, right? The flaw to this setup is that I have to use the tray to keep the laptop from overheating…which I’m certain it will do if I were to actually rest it on my lap.

(Clears throat) Hence, I hereby denounce the name “laptop” as being unscrupulous, bogus and deceitful. It’s misleading, phony and basically a sham. I mean, yes…you can technically place this 14” by 10” computer on your lap…ya know, for show. A better name might have been a “Portapute”….or “Port” for short. (Copyright # YTV-3K-00000000000 pending.)

I know…you’re shaking your heads in complete and utter amazement at my brilliance…it’s almost superhuman, right? I know…and I haven’t even made my point yet.

So, I needed to fashion something else to use as a resting surface for my portapute. (See? It’s catching on already! Oh, wait….that’s me.) It’s too uncomfortable to have a wooden tray resting on an already achy-breaky leg, although it comes in mighty handy if you say something you feel superstitious about, ‘cause the wood’s right there and all….

Plan A:

I figured I could stick my legs through the middle, as it’s a bottomless/topless box. I chose a liquor box for it’s unusual strength and durability…and because…well, I have so many of them. Problem is that I had to shore it up on both sides to keep it from collapsing…so I chalked it up to a design flaw and went back to the virtual drawing board. (Author's note: My sister Laura has one of those bed-trays. I can tell that's what you're thinking, you know. But, that would require my getting in the car and driving over there to retrieve it...and that's not gonna happen. I know you understand.)

Plan B:

This one seems to be working a tad better. The box is also plenty durable and I’m sure it will last for years to come. (Where's my sarcasm font when I need it??)  (Actually, this one’s only slightly higher on our structurally-sound rating…but we’re not worrying about that today, now are we??) I’d also like to point out my inability to think through the notion that I might want those grabby-hole-thingies to be on the sides…thus making it easier to get the blasted thing off of me when I need to stand/stretch/pee/whatever. I then had to cut two new holes on the left and right sides (not pictured), further questioning the integrity of said structure. Hey, ya live and ya learn...I can't be a freakin' genius 24/7...

Here’s a view from underneath:

What?

As you can plainly see, George is showing his concern and empathy for my sciatica affliction by assuming a painful expression that he feels conveys both my heroic bravery in battling this on a day-to-day basis and my determination to maintain my sense of humor through insurmountable agony and an extremely achy, extremely numb butt.

At least, I think that’s what he’s saying….