I’m here. I’m always here. But aren’t we all? Where else would we be but here?
Here, for me, is usually my living room couch with my laptop on my lap. At least when I’m at rest. And by ‘at rest’ I mean working, because working on my novels, whether writing or editing is right up there with relaxing with a good book. I may call it working but to me it’s nothing like work.
Back to the ‘here.’ There is a marked difference between being here and sitting next to Alex than there is being here when he’s at his dad’s. I’m afraid, most of the time, to allow myself to concentrate on my work. There’s nothing worse than being wrenched out of it by someone demanding something of me. It’s like laying down for a nap when you know the phone will probably ring. What’s the use?
Not only that, but the difference in noise is also a factor. When I’m alone I can put my music on–when I’m writing or editing it’s always the Japanese band, Buck-Tick–but when Alex is here I’m usually listening to him sing. And by singing I mean a long, drawn out single note, because he’s Deaf and doesn’t understand that singing means more than one sound. The good news is, he can watch TV and play video games with the sound off and he doesn’t know the difference. At least I don’t have to listen to Dora the Explorer all day long.
So here I sit, now trying to decide if I should take the plunge or just give up on the idea of working for the day. It’s stressful not to work.
Especially when Buck-Tick is playing.
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