One of the strangest things about working from home, for me, is when my husband takes a sick day. For most people, a husband laid up at home doesn't necessarily affect productivity, but imagine taking your sick spouse to work: setting him up with a blanket and a cup of tea, hearing him watch Star Trek on his laptop while you try to get your work done.
On one hand, I love having my husband at home. On the other, I have to get certain things done in order to feel I'm earning my keep. The chores aren't so hard to accomplish when he's here; the writing is almost impossible. You see, even though I have an office in this new apartment, it does adjoin the living room, and it doesn't have a door. This morning, I slept in late (I usually get up with his alarm and then walk him to work for my morning exercise, which I also missed), cooked him breakfast, and watched an episode of Warehouse 13. If this were Saturday, I'd say it had been a good morning. Too bad it's Monday.
Did you ever steal anything from a five and ten? When you were a kid, I mean?
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