Spring Clinging

I don’t want to be here. Sitting here. But I do, because I am a writer. Right? Write.

It takes too much effort to be here. I can’t wake up and immediately sit down to write, because if I do, my back hurts. So I get up, fold some pillowcases, feed some cats, walk around the condo a bit, drink some water, make some coffee, etc.

And now I’m ready to write.

Except I can’t yet, because my laptop doesn’t live out here in the main area. It lives in the bedroom, because there aren’t any available outlets out in the main area. I trudge back to the bedroom to retrieve the writing device.

But I can’t just sit down at the table and open up the laptop and start writing, because the Enter key on my MacBook isn’t working properly these days. I have to press it — very, very firmly — to get it to eke out a single hard return. So I go to my work laptop, take the USB Bluetooth connector out of it, grab my Bluetooth keyboard, and go back to the Macbook.

But I can’t just plug in the USB connector, because this is a MacBook Air, not only a MacBook Air but a MacBook Air from 2017 (hence the wonky Enter key?), and it doesn’t have a USB port. It’s evolved, apparently, to only need a USB-C port. So I go back over to my work desk and grab my annoyingly cumbersome dongle thing that I plug into the USB-C port to enable me to use a regular USB device.

So now I’m here, and I’m finally writing.

Is this enough?

It is for today.

Cover Image by Amy Hirschi on Unsplash