A Balancing Act

‘Yes, I can talk now. Come and sit down,’ Andrew, the web designer, encouraged as I approached his desk. Urgh, I’ve only just got the blood running through my legs again and now you want me to sit down?

‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a seat next to him.

‘So, here are the designs so far.’

He handed me a scroll of paper to unravel and marvel at. I duly did, making all the right noises. Little did Andrew know, the whole lower half of my body was simultaneously dissolving into a pins and needles induced jelly. My buttocks throbbed every now and then with numbness. It was surprising they did not announce themselves with a fridge-like humming. I had been sitting down for nearly nine solid hours. It was like I had evolved passed needing the use of my legs and would next start to grow wings.

‘These are really – fabulous,’ I offered.

Andrew looked at me earnestly and I could feel my own face strain in discomfort, an expression practically indistinguishable from disapproval.

‘They’re not finished,’ he explained. ‘I wasn’t sure about the font on this and I can always make this flashing tab a bit smaller.’

It was too much. I stood up abruptly, enjoying that distant feeling of those twin appendages rush back to me.

‘Off already?’

‘No, no, I’m just…’ an animalistic quiver took over my body and I stretched out my hands to the ceiling. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ I said, rotating my hips. ‘OK! Now, I can think. Excuse me, do you mind if I…’ I indicated the foot that I was now balancing on my shin – Tree Pose.

‘No, no, not at all.’

Heads started to turn.

‘God, much better. It only takes a little elasticity in the muscles, you know? Let’s talk, though. Keep talking. Tell me about your ideas,’ I encouraged, shooting one of my knees into a lunge.

‘Well, there’s always the option of –’

I dropped my head between my thighs, almost doubled over between my bending legs.

‘Of what?’ I looked up to catch Andrew averting his eyes from my rising rear.

            ‘Florence – what are you doing?’ Morgana’s shrill tone was unmistakable.

‘Stretching.’

‘This is not a gym, Florence.’

‘Yes, I’m aware. I just need to get the blood flowing. Too sedentary a lifestyle can lead to all sorts of health problems later in life,’ I said, turning my chest from side to side.

            ‘You’re distracting everyone.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. I can’t really do anything about that…but I can prevent thrombosis.’

‘Florence. I suggest you go somewhere else if you need to be quite so energetic. You can return to the office if and when you’re ready to work.’

Fully erect now, I removed myself from the vicinity, exiting on an eerie silence. Thank you, Morgana. You probably enjoy the pain of sitting down all day. It probably gives you a masochistic thrill.

After a whisk around the office I returned to my desk with an armful of the thickest books I could borrow: dictionaries, Bibles, The Encyclopaedia of Sewers – someone’s idea of a fun lunch break. Silently and determinedly I constructed a book tower on which to lightly place my keyboard like an unappetising cherry atop a very dry cake. I began to proudly type away, all the while standing on my feet – my fingers now perfectly placed to glide over the keys. It felt pretty good to take a stand.