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Sep. 12th, 2004 07:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyWould you do something for me? If you have time, of course. Call it a writing exercise.
I want you to look at the room you're in. When was the last time you looked at it? When was the last time you didn't automatically just think bedroom/study/computer room, and leave it at that? Look around you. Think.
If you have time, I'd love a description of it, in as little or as much detail as you like. How does it make you feel? Why that particular picture, over the computer? I'm insatiably curious. If you don't want to write though, that's fine, but take a look. See what you've forgotten to see.
This room is pretty big. It seems like, if they sealed it up, I could last for a week on the oxygen... and yet, when it's full of people and clattering keyboards it seems like there's barely enough air, like breathing is a challenge. It's strange how perspective can change a place so much.
It's almost a square, but the corner along the wall from me is curved, exposed pipes and slightly uneven bricks making it more interesting. That corner is warm, somewhere to rest your feet, a pipe seeping heat through the souls of your shoes, but the computer there doesn't work at the moment. That's why I'm over in this corner, with an unplugged orange wire and so many plug sockets, cracked paint and the reassurance of hard drives between me and the next person. I say it's 'cos of the porn but in truth I just don't like people watching what I'm doing. It makes me nervous. In the third corner, directly behind me, windows and blinds that are never quite open, never quite shut, twisted up for a view of grey bricks, and the fourth corner has the door.
I'd like to be on a computer by the window, but it's occupied more often than not, and it tends to be the first corner to fill up in the morning. That I have such a long term computer room strategy illustrates, perhaps, how often I'm in here. Too often. Still, it's a home of a sort.
It's starting to go grey outside, and that's how you know that it's daylight. Even on the sunniest days, the bricks will still be grey, but a certain quality to the light lets you know the weather; slightly bluish, today. I imagine low grey clouds, the need for electric lights, rain later. I can't tell, because out of the window is grey bricks, a net to stop pigeons getting confused by windows and nooks and crannies, a green-tinged cherub. Besides, it's behind me.
The walls are magnolia, an institution colour if ever there was one, matching the hard drives and plug sockets. My blue and yellow notepad, brought in so I can get an address so I can send things to someone important, keeps catching the corner of my eye, a bright incongruence. The chairs are grey, as is the carpet, and the desk... if you look terribly carefully, there's pink and grey and white and brown and fawn, but from here it just looks one dull colour. Rather like a room of faces you've never met. Like the computer room, when it's full, and it becomes hard to breathe.
I want you to look at the room you're in. When was the last time you looked at it? When was the last time you didn't automatically just think bedroom/study/computer room, and leave it at that? Look around you. Think.
If you have time, I'd love a description of it, in as little or as much detail as you like. How does it make you feel? Why that particular picture, over the computer? I'm insatiably curious. If you don't want to write though, that's fine, but take a look. See what you've forgotten to see.
This room is pretty big. It seems like, if they sealed it up, I could last for a week on the oxygen... and yet, when it's full of people and clattering keyboards it seems like there's barely enough air, like breathing is a challenge. It's strange how perspective can change a place so much.
It's almost a square, but the corner along the wall from me is curved, exposed pipes and slightly uneven bricks making it more interesting. That corner is warm, somewhere to rest your feet, a pipe seeping heat through the souls of your shoes, but the computer there doesn't work at the moment. That's why I'm over in this corner, with an unplugged orange wire and so many plug sockets, cracked paint and the reassurance of hard drives between me and the next person. I say it's 'cos of the porn but in truth I just don't like people watching what I'm doing. It makes me nervous. In the third corner, directly behind me, windows and blinds that are never quite open, never quite shut, twisted up for a view of grey bricks, and the fourth corner has the door.
I'd like to be on a computer by the window, but it's occupied more often than not, and it tends to be the first corner to fill up in the morning. That I have such a long term computer room strategy illustrates, perhaps, how often I'm in here. Too often. Still, it's a home of a sort.
It's starting to go grey outside, and that's how you know that it's daylight. Even on the sunniest days, the bricks will still be grey, but a certain quality to the light lets you know the weather; slightly bluish, today. I imagine low grey clouds, the need for electric lights, rain later. I can't tell, because out of the window is grey bricks, a net to stop pigeons getting confused by windows and nooks and crannies, a green-tinged cherub. Besides, it's behind me.
The walls are magnolia, an institution colour if ever there was one, matching the hard drives and plug sockets. My blue and yellow notepad, brought in so I can get an address so I can send things to someone important, keeps catching the corner of my eye, a bright incongruence. The chairs are grey, as is the carpet, and the desk... if you look terribly carefully, there's pink and grey and white and brown and fawn, but from here it just looks one dull colour. Rather like a room of faces you've never met. Like the computer room, when it's full, and it becomes hard to breathe.
