Shhh, don’t tell

I’m in the library, writing. Everyone thinks I’m working, but I’m not. It’s a convincing front. My computer is in front of me, open to a Word document, and I am typing away madly.

Working at home means that your life bleeds into your work. And if your husband is talkative and on summer break, then he’s likely to say something like “You know, I’ve been thinking…” and then launch into a treatise about solar panels, tree work, the car issue, politics, short shorts, publication, our friends, his sister, the dog, etc.

Sometimes people take working at home to mean “Your time is flexible” when I’m thinking “If I don’t finish this today, I’m fucked.” Now, I’m not complaining. I like working at home. But sometimes it’s too involved. I hoarded some time, left the house, went out for lunch alone, and am back at a table writing.

Everyone else can fuck off (but not you guys, you can stay).

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6 responses to “Shhh, don’t tell

  1. Don’t tell anyone, but I sometimes take secret vacation days and spend my work hours writing. Or going through the archives of webcomics . . . (Shhh!) 😉

  2. My husband works at home every Friday. He wants to chat over the morning paper, walk the dogs together, go out for lunch, ….. And since he travels a lot, it’s hard for me to escape on Fridays. I walk around all day, irritated, itching to be alone with my computer.

    Of course when he’s gone and I’m home alone, I find a million other things to do besides write.

  3. Is your husband’s treatise on short shorts regarding really short stories, or items of clothing? This question is keeping me from work right now. (When I was a teenager, I was chastised for saying ‘short pants.’ “Everyone calls them shorts,” according to my friend. Ha. Not everyone.)

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