A really good office can be a real curse, too. Stuck in my corner closet with no room to move or think (for the past two years) I was forced to get out and about and lift rocks. Now I have a kettle bell and room to stretch. I can even pace! For the same reason that I replaced my office chair with a weird wobbly stool, it might be better to be slightly more uncomfortable, you know? Maybe not. My livelihood is made in that office, I’m obliged to spend a load of time in there. The amount of time I spend in that office is proportional to the success I have at work, and that’s what pays for groceries. Now, I may wish I didn’t have to pay for groceries, but I do, and there are worse ways to do it than writing super-capitalist poetry.

I like my office and I like the kettlebell and I like the stool, now if I can just figure out how to squeeze a side project or two into the hours between, that’d make me more comfortable…spiritually.