I brought work home with me to do, but, as yet, haven't done much with it. I know there are people who work well at home. I'm not one of them. Oh sure, I've checked e-mail and read a little. Only a little.
I also know people who do their own home improvement work. I admire them from afar. If I get to close, they might poke out my eye with a saw or something.
I admire the fortitude these folks have in doing their things. I also always find myself feeling odd about the circumstance of having work done on my house while I wile away the day dog-sitting the two canine-type freaks Honey and I brought into our lives.
I keep telling myself that since I'll be at home tomorrow, too, I'll get some of what I brought home done then.
It's a funny thing, this lack of motivation. I have lamented, in the past, my lack of time at home since I took on an administrative (rather than teaching) job at my fine institution of higher education. Honestly, though, I don't know what I got done once upon a time. Instead, as the day has gone on, I remember some connected moments. They have not been moments of great production. Eating some pasta, reading the paper. It's nice, I suppose. I find myself feeling at odds. Restless really.
My heart may be more restless than it used to be. I find that quite plausible. The problem, though, is how to calm the restless heart. Or at least how to get it to not beat up on itself for being restless.
The good news is that the work should be done tomorrow or Monday and we'll have two layers of dog gates, more patio next to our side door, and functional locks on all our exterior doors and the garage. Honey has suggested we invite our handyman to move in, which I'm inclined to do, as we're also in negotiation to have him rip out our carpeting, lay some tile, and fix us up with some fine faux wood laminate. "Only [we] will know it isn't wood!"
As for my restless heart, I just checked in with Newton (or Ike, as I like to call him), and he reports that it's likely to stay moving. At least for now. So wave if you see it run by.
8 comments:
I, for one, will never poke your eye out with a saw.
I'd attribute your restlessness of heart to the change in seasons, but you don't have them out there...
two layers of gates? do tell?
like in jurassic park?
Or like in a doggy park, creating something of a "holding area", with strict rules that only one be open at a time...?
I'm pretty pathetic about motivating to do job-work when at home, too. I'd much rather read and cuddle. :)
Wendy has the concept down precisely. It's a dog-park style gate set-up, though nicer with cedar and bricks. It also allows us full (non-dog encumbered) access to the side door, the garbage cans, and the garage. Pictures in a follow-up post!
Think of it as the Van Nuys Dog Canal, a.k.a. the No-Jumping Zone, so that when one is doing an activity at which dogs are unhelpful but wish to help nonetheless—i.e., bringing in groceries, taking out trash—one can move about unencumbered.
I stayed home the day before Sporks did, and I was about as productive as she was.
Eh. Productive, shmroductive. I can't wait to experience the Van Nuys Dog Canal. (But, truth be told, I hope I'll still get a little hap-pee once in a while.)
Lucklily I have the kind of work that mostly stays at work-when I am home, for I fear it would not get done. No. I have a hard enough time taking the deposit to the bank--on the way home.
I often wish that I were handy or at least had an interest in being handy. I hate it. I hated it as a kid. I had no interest in helping my dad paint, do yard work, etc.
In this house, I was determined to mow the little lawn at front myself, that lasted one week before I walked over and hired the neighbor's gardener (more accurately the laborer who does yard work).
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