Stop the press! Over lunch, the carport (see below) will NOT be empty. S.O. is coming home for lunch. I'm practically giddy. I set out lunch trays and I even brushed my teeth and put on deoderant.

Which certainly got me to thinking--especially in light of the recent passing of our 10th anniversary--there are not many times when I think about making myself "cute" anymore.

Oh--gotta go. He's here...

Working from Home

Must stay sane. Must stay sane. Must stay sane, must stay sane, must stay sane must-stay-fucking-stane. Stane? Fuck!

Hope is not lost. I can do these revisions. I can do these revisions. I can get this chapter in. Not to add any more pressure, but yesterday, S.O. sent me a very pleasant email, excerpted below:

“You constantly do not act in a way as if you respect me or try to help me in mutual goals. You focus directly on what you have going on and the rest is whatever. I understand you have a grant due. I understand you have a conference to go on. I understand you have a chapter to write. But guess what. You are also a mother and a wife. And supposed to be a partner. I have things going on every single day…Important to me and my career just like you have. You don't know what's going on with me and my work and my job and my stress. Your whole world consists of your work; A; work around the house; and semi-finances.”

I won’t try to lie, he’s pretty accurate in his assessment. However, S.O. has conveniently neglected to mention that his whole world consists of his HIS work, semi-fatherhood, semi-finances, .10 work-around-the-house and playing Halo2 at least two hours a night.

We’re quite a couple. What do you get when you put two procrastinating perfectionists in a marriage together?
Apparently, one great kid, a mountain of debt (half of which are loans from graduate and law school) and a marriage propped up by the aforementioned kid and debt.

I’m struggling mightily with these revisions, even though the grant that S.O. mentioned has fallen by the wayside for the time being, which took about 500 lbs of stress off my brain.

Part of the problem I think is the fact that it is very difficult and a very lonely thing to work from home when your office is also your kitchen. If you’ve never tried working from home and think it would be a dream come true, I would like to disabuse you of any romantic notions you may be cherishing. It is Lonely. It is difficult to keep from turning on the TV, from doing laundry, or from surfing the web, looking up graduate school friends and seeing their fabulous professional lives represented in living color and publications. Every now and then I get up and go stand outside by the carport, hoping to get inspired. Listen here for sound effects of v. loud birds outside the carport. It helps a little. Mainly, though, it’s just really hard.

However, I can definitely think of many other existences that are much more difficult than mine, and that also helps me to refocus on the blessings of having an S.O., a daughter, a home, a kitchen, and the ability to work from home. I guess all of this is neither here nor there. Just trying to express and make sense of my reality.

And now, back to the tasks for the day: working on my chapter, semi-finances, and attempting to stay sane.

Welcome to my planet earthling

I’ve said this before, I’m sure. I imagine that there are people in this world for whom success and productivity are given like gifts to the heir of a great inheritance. For these people, each professional milestone is received with a slightly lifted nose, regarded with pursed lips, and placed on a shelf as a sort of existential knick knack.

And there are the rest of us. Who look up at the end of a long day—a day on which THE Chapter absolutely, positively must get there on time—and think “What the hell just happened to me?”

I mean, let’s see. I woke up. Being the supportive-type wife that I am, I agreed to get up at 5am to work while S.O. prepared for his depositions. Deleted some spam, surfed a few blogs. Started editing the chapter, looked up and it was time to get A out of bed, into the tub, and all of us out the door. As I’m hurriedly slicking my hair back into a ghetto ponytail and throwing on yesterday’s jeans which are also last Saturday’s jeans AND last Thursday’s jeans, S.O. turns, and says “You’re not taking a shower?”

After brief wonderment at his talent for stating the obvious and a passing thought that I have, by accident, married an alien, I try unsuccessfully to muster a civil reponse:

“Well, hmm. Let’s see. Given that you (S.O.) have not yet showered, or ironed your clothes, or shaved and given that A. is still in bed and given your desire to have all ofus in the car in 30 minutes—no, I think I will not be taking a shower. However, if it makes you feel any better, I will at some point later today, take the time to unfunk myself.”

To which he responds, “WooHoo! Thank God!” and slaps me on the ass.

And there, ladies and gentleman, is proof that reality really is far stranger than reality TV.

Which would, of course, explain the time warp that resulted in it being five o clock and me being only five pages into the revisions of my chapter.

Meme-type Question....

Just for curiosity's sake...

What is your definition of commitment?

Holla back.