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Don’t mind the dust….I hate dusting. It’s not an indication of use.

The Beard and the boys are on vacation. I’ve noticed when the house if full of males on break, my daily routine goes off tilt. The challenge of working at home full time is maintaining a schedule. I’ve built time for house cleaning, grocery shopping, hitting the gym, and writing. The writing schedule is sacrosanct. Appointments, meetings, and other events have to fit the schedule. I can’t view it as flexible except in emergency circumstances. Laundry is unending. Having all of these brains on cruise control interferes with my productive energy.

The holidays haven’t helped. It’s strange enough when clerks ask me if I’m ready for the weekend,now they’re asking me how I’m handling the holidays.  All of the holiday hustle and bustle is leaving its mark on my time, but typically I don’t measure time’s passing by the arrival of the weekend. My day’s activities are my own. I have doctor’s appointments and errands, but I’m not pressed to be some place. I’ve avoided the frantic holiday panic because of it.

Having the Beard and the teenagers home creates obstacles and distraction to the smooth flow of my week. I know, I’m whining. I don’t need to tell you how much effort it takes to keep to a schedule.

The Beard’s constant presence also disconcerts because we share an office. I adore my husband, but our working styles rest at opposite ends of the spectrum. We both talk out loud. This isn’t a problem when the only audience I have is the Writing Staff, but the Beard feels compelled to reply. He swears a lot when he’s working. It’s startling and disruptive to my writing flow. In addition, he always says things worthy of posting. He’s pithy and entertaining even when he’s not trying to be.

I click. Not me, my keyboard. The Beard purchased a fancy, naked and nearly silent keyboard for his computer. Yes, naked. Zero labels. No DSC_0363letters, no numbers, no F keys….show off. When he broached the subject of a new keyboard for me, I balked. I need the letters and I like the click.

I learned to type in high school. A business class was required for graduation and to pass the class you had to score 75 wpm on the test. Big, humming Smith Corona Electras squatted on rows of desks like toads. Those keys required pressure and clamored when the class hit the keys. I hated the class, the teacher, and typing, but those resounding clicks burrowed into my psyche.

The other thing about the Beard being off of work is he’s working on our stuff. Publishing research, media feeds, review requests, and anything else he can dig up. This leads to lists of things for me to do later. Can we work on your bio? This author did this, this author does that, what do I think of this? Add a progress bar to my blog so people know what my daily word count is? Yeah, right.

DSC_0361He’s taken to sitting on his Lazy Boy recliner and shouting things to me from the living room.

Apparently, the clicking irritates the Beard. Ha!

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