Monday, July 5, 2010

Rethinking the Home Office

Remember that famous picture of JFK Jr. peeking out from beneath his father's desk?  Right, who doesn't.  Well, I'm wondering how our 35th president got a lick of work done!  My office is our latest project, and it is in the throes of completion.  The idea behind having a home office was to provide me with a place I could, at least temporarily, escape the endless barrage of questions about dinner, schedules, lost apparel and the injustice of trading silly bands for the latest cereal box booty, only to have the other party renege.  We moved some of our residents around, slapped on a fresh coat of paint, had FIOS wire my connection, and hung a few pictures sure to soothe the savage bill-paying, budget-tweaking beast.  It's just down the hall from our bedroom, so Bishop can curl up at my feet while still keeping a keen eye on the "big bed" to see if Daddy might let him up for a scratch or two.  It's cozy and dark and tailor-made for losing myself within the folds of my writing.  It screams "productive" without making a sound.  Perfect, right?  Well, I've just come to the realization that outside of the Bonneville Salt Flats or some other semi-remote location (say, Mars) it doesn't make a bit of difference.  It's about setting boundaries; telling those around you that, momentarily, the task at hand must come first, and they must go it alone or find something else to distract them while they wait for assistance.  It's about reminding others we have a state of the art calendar in the kitchen, right beside the expensive pens from the bank and, if they really apply themselves they can discern how those items are best used in order to record their upcoming events somewhere other than my cerebral cortex.  It's about pointing out the detailed instructions that are neatly compiled in three separate volumes, located on the shelf in the kitchen -- directives that will allow one to provide for themselves via the preparation of various foodstuffs.  Similar, actually to the way in which I provide for others on a daily basis with no sorcery, versatile utility belt or secret powers whatsoever.  Yeah, well, so much for that.  The blank stares, tilted heads and cocked ears are just the harbinger of the myriad of inquiries I will face if I remain staked within my boundary.  Besides, who can resist answering the fifteenth excited inquiry about the dog's flatulence?

"Hey, Babe, your thoughts on a walk-in closet?"

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