Concentration

It's a familiar scene. I'm lounging on my bed, tapping away on the teeny Powerbook that's glued to my knee. Strewn around me are a mobile phone, a debit card, an empty crisp packet and, last but not least, a file and all sorts of bits of paper. Ciaran is hiding under the covers; I don't know what he thinks is going to happen, except I'm about to get productive. To aid me in this mammoth effort are the sweet, musing sounds provided by the folks (no pun intended) at Folk Alley, who may have to be disconnected if they disrupt my concentration.

The path to this evening's productiveness started this lunch time, when I bought a printer. How can I be productive without a printer? So far I've printed out a picture of one of my parents' dogs lying on her back, paws in the air, grinningly aimiably. Now, I know that's not what I bought it for, but what can anyone expect when they put free samples of photographic paper in the box? Really? Besides, I discovered when I came to test the printer out that that's the only paper I have. I'm hardly going to make notes on it.

Besides, I feel like I've acheived something already, managing to print out a 4 x 6 photograph without cutting to poor animal's head or legs off. By the third attempt, anyway...