Working requires a modicum of quiet in my world. That’s one reason why working from home is good for me. I am not tempted to troll around the office yakking to hapless victims all day long. Instead, I waste time by doing a load of laundry, pouring my fifteenth glass of water or venturing into the garden to devour the next ripe tomato.
On Wednesday, I was spectacularly productive. I chained myself to my desk for most of the afternoon, combining work on two simultaneous reports for clients with gabbing on the telephone with Alison about our upcoming travel itinerary. I was SO PROUD of me. Only three glasses of water and everything.
Until I was distracted by a clacking noise. The harder I focused on my keyboard and the client information sprawled on my dual screens, the more persistent the irritating sound became. I lifted my computer from my desk and looked under it, thinking it was melting down somehow. I unplugged several mysterious wires and reconnected them. Okay, I even poured another glass of water. Still, every time I buckled down to work again, the clattering resumed, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to resonate all the way into the center of my chest.
Pushing back from my desk, I wailed, “What the $%^&*#@%^!!!! is that noise??????!!!!!!??????”
Dear Reader, it was the clickety-clack of my fingernails on my computer keyboard.
Most of the time, I bite my nails. Or, I manage to grow them almost to the tips of my fingers, and they break into the quick. Or, I become annoyed with them and clip them to an unattractive length. They almost never make noise.
What’s even more amazing is that the state of my stress levels in recent days has been such that I haven’t gone to sleep without heartburn in almost a week. My blog isn’t for complaining and whining. You do not care about that part of my life. But, several circumstances have converged at one time in a Bermuda Triangle of woe that would normally send me chewing on the ends of my fingers until they bled. I don’t know what combination of factors has caused my fingernails to GROW.
Maybe it’s the writing. Or the drinking. Or the mere presence of YOU.
Too Much is Just Enough: Unexplained Miracles