After years of politics and maneuvering, I’ve been promoted to a corner office with a view.
Never mind that the corner I speak of is in the dining room, and that the view overlooks a fenced side yard, a redwood planted as a sprig, and the second story of a neighbor’s house. Thankfully, the sprig grew into a proper tree that nearly obscures my sight line of the neighbor and vice versa.
A good thing, since I imagine writing might look more like prying to inexperienced eyes.
If anyone spots me staring vacantly out the window, I’m not being nosy. I’m simply in the zone.
At first, this new arrangement felt like a demotion. I consoled myself by picturing the living and dining rooms staged like the playground of an up-and-coming Internet Startup. But I know what would happen. The Grand would get big eyes, and then next thing you know we’d be too busy sliding, skateboarding and tossing beach balls to focus. My work-play balance would suffer.
In the short term, a free-standing room divider makes this tiny corner feel a bit like a cubicle at a stodgy corporation. But unlike a corporate cubbyhole, it’s been far more difficult to maintain the sanctity and utter necessity of boundaries.
To be fair to the Family, I imagine the writing zone might look more like mere sitting and daydreaming and gazing out the window to their loving eyes. And sitting and daydreaming and gazing out the window rank as utterly interruptible activities. Ask anyone. It’s an unwritten law in the Code of Family Conduct.
I’m considering rigging a propeller-topped beanie with a sign that says WORKING, in the vain hope that a visual cue about invisible brain activity might garner some respect.
But I know what would happen.
The Family would get big eyes.
They’d want beanies too…
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