Lesson of the Day

Strange how the small things in my environment affect writing. Here I am at my alma mater with about two and a half hours to burn, and the excuses I'm making to avoid writing are kind of ridiculous. The table my computer is resting on is too high. It jabs into my forearms as I rest them there while I type. If it were lower, this table would be perfect. This seat is hard. I liked the old chairs in the computer lab better. The back of it isn't high enough. One would think it'd be the noise, the people, the clanking of the enormous doors that would be my excuses for not writing. But somehow boys singing in the stairwell and tour groups full of freshmen passing through talking about what a drag freshman seminar is and the incessant thud and clank of the doors as people walk through don't bother me. I suppose it's my small personal sphere that needs to be as I like it to be for writing. Anything outside my circle becomes material to write about. But I don't usually want to write about hard chairs and tables that are too high. Odd thing is, I believe I've done just that. Lesson of the day, write no matter what.