Friday, November 03, 2006

Where's My Pants?

For any of you that work at home, you know the distractions are endless. Writing can be a challenging thing, when you don't get much in the way of quiet time. Add to that the fact that your unfinished housework stares back at you any time you sit down to try to get a handle on the actual work at hand....

So, you finally get the housework under some type of control, and you sit at your computer screen and start in earnest at your latest assignment, the perfect phrase to state your client's concept leaps to mind, finger in mid-strike, when a small voice screams from near you left hand side, "Mommy!!!! Look, look, look.... I can do a cartwheel, see?" Okay, take time for your four year old, pay a little attention, not that you weren't paying attention as you served his breakfast, dressed him for the day, read a story, played with play-doh, got him his snack....

Okay, where was I? Oh, the blank page... what was it I was going to say? Need a cup of coffee, have a quick snack, trudge back to the blank page after having wasted thirty minutes, oh, yes, you remember exactly the right phrase.... finger in mid strike....

"Hey, Where's my pants?" Comes the loud shout of hubby type person from two floors up... hmm, who the hell dressed him before we got married? How is it that you have to yell through the house for someone else to find your pants? And why in God's green earth didn't he just look in the closet, where they always are? ughh........... maybe they don't take this writing thing seriously.

2 comments:

Quantamama said...

Sigh! This is my life you're describing. I was all PO'd the other day because making pancakes is a much more involved task than it ever used to be. I was interrupted at least 7 times just in the process of preparing pancakes (and then I think I was the only one who ate them.) Who knew that finding socks, cleaning barf on the stairs, or locating the remote were all necessary steps in cooking breakfast. GRRRRRRR!

Merry Jelinek said...

No doubt, qmama!

What never ceases to amaze me is that a grown man will actually find need to bellow across the house for help getting dressed.... I mean, I know I'm the mom, but I'm not HIS mom...

Thanks for stopping - I would've commented earlier, but I'm still getting the hang of all the features here and didn't see this comment.