Yesterday my husband worked from home. We have only one office which we thankfully don’t share too often. Don’t get me wrong, as much as I love him, love to spend time together, he doesn’t grasp the concept that I can’t listen to him talk while I write. Let’s just say I produced nothing yesterday.
He started off his day by asking me intermittent questions on this and that. Nothing that could not have waited till later to discuss. At nine o’clock he had a conference call which lasted two hours, this being the time of which I am most productive. I gave up somewhere within the first half hour of his call. I figured there was no point in getting aggravated. I could catch up tomorrow on the chapter I had looked forward to writing. After his call, the dear, he came to find me to ask me why I wasn’t writing.
What do you say to that?
I decided to be honest. After explaining to him how I have a process, a need for quiet in order to concentrate, he gave me the most perplexed look. His answer astonished me. But, I wasn’t talking with you. Deep breath. No, but you certainly did not keep your voice down during your call. I kept that to myself. What I did say was, that I worked better when I was alone.
This morning he found this taped to our office door.