Edgar and I: Getting Reacquainted

So the buzz from the office isn’t the hard drive or the fan going on the fritz; it’s Edgar.

Seems he’s a bit perturbed because I haven’t spent much time at the computer and he thinks I’ve stopped writing.  I realized I’d never told him about the laptop.  I explained how I’ve actually done nothing but spend time on the computer, and while I believed this would appease his lust for written words, it seemed to agitate him.  I had to break into the absinthe to calm him down and get him to organize his mutterings into reasonably understandable grievances.

So it turns out he’s mad now because I don’t have him there when I write.  If I’m using the laptop, he seems to thinks he should be there too.  I tried to explain to him that he’s much more comfortable sitting atop the computer desk leaning on his brick, that the shop is so cold sometimes that the coffeepot is frozen, and that he’d have to squish into the carrying case for the journey to the barn, but he says he’s slept in flophouses and on doorsteps so what’s the big deal?

You know, if it’s not one person bitchin’ at you, it’s another.  I was tempted to squish his little cotton-stuffed head, but remembered who I was dealing with and compromised.  He can sit with me in the living room when I work and watch tv ("what’s tv?" he asks) and maybe come to the shop with me in the spring. 

Cripes, men.