A room of one’s own

One of the tragedies of living in a small house in January is the desperate, DESPERATE, D*E*S*P*E*R*A*T*E craving for privacy.

And what has happened a couple of times this week is this head-t0-head between me and Elisheva… whoever is most unpleasant “wins” and gets to stay home all by herself.

Sometimes she wins.  Sometimes I win.  Usually she wins; she can be far more unpleasant sometimes.

Ted never wins, for what it’s worth.

Anyway, in desperation because I have a ton of stuff I am supposed to be finishing up writing, some seeds I want to plant that I am not allowing myself to plant until I’m finished working, and a request from my mother to “bring dessert” just when the chocolate chips decided to mysteriously go missing…

I have just yelled at every single member of my immediate and extended family and sent them all on to my mother’s house for supper so I can finish baking the brownies (found the chips, yay!) (under the sink; don’t ask) and get some !$%#^! writing done.

So now I’m done.  I have to go back and have a peaceful family supper with them all after a fairly frustrating cooped-up day indoors.

Waah.  I wish wish WISH for another computer, or at the very least, another ROOM where a person could go and work privately without five people screaming over her shoulder.


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