On Thursday, I scheduled a Skype interview with Heather Clouse, creator of Dear Deployment, I Hate You.  I had created a list of interview questions earlier that day and had them ready by my laptop when Heather contacted me.  Since her son was sleeping, we weren’t able to video chat or call, so we typed, instead.  This definitely had disadvantages — lag time was a huge issue on a couple of occasions, as well as the inability to decipher Heather’s tone while reading her responses (at least emoticons somewhat helped!).  On the plus side, it was faster than e-mail, gave me plenty of time to jot notes on my notepad and also gave me the ability to save and print a copy of our conversation, so I can refer to it for exact quotes and highlight major points.

On Friday, I received a phone call from a potential Mary Kay client (I actually thought it was Alan’s BlackBerry that was ringing, and handed my phone to him — confused as to why he was talking about Mary Kay a few moments later!), and dropped off a catalog at her office.  I need to follow up with her within the next couple of days.

On Sunday, I sent a follow-up e-mail to someone I’d like to interview.  It’s usually my rule not to work on Sundays, but I obviously broke it.

On Monday, I started typing up an e-mail on my BlackBerry.  I meant to save it and accidentally sent it.  Thinking that the BlackBerry has the same functions as Gmail, I started searching for “Unsend” but clicked “Resend” in my haste.  So, I stared at the screen for a few seconds, thinking that I really didn’t just do that.  Since the messages still had small clock symbols next to them, I hoped that they had not been sent, and deleted them.  Then, for the next several minutes I wondered whether they had actually been deleted.  If they had not, then I thought I should send another e-mail apologizing for and explaining the error.  If they had been deleted?  Well, I decided to send the e-mail, anyway.  Fortunately, the recipient didn’t mention the error in his reply, and simply addressed the latter part of the e-mail.

During Sunday School, the ladies’ class was discussing the home and that it should be a sanctuary.  That’s precisely what I want our home to be like when Alan and I are married, and that’s one of the reasons I would love the opportunity to work from home.  I could complete my work and keep up with the house.  I’ll be the perfect 1950s housewife with a feminist, independent streak!  While Alan’s working and the pies I started baking at dawn are cooling on the kitchen counter, I’ll host a salon and we’ll discuss foreign policy and Plato and peer review each others’ dissertations.

Back to reality.  The ladies made me wonder — what if I start associating my house with the stresses of work?  What if I start dreading the road that takes me to the house?  I had only ever considered the positives, and it never entered my mind that writing might be a task I’ll dread from time to time (go figure, I’ve been the assistant editor in chief and the news editor for nearly a year but never thought to connect my future writing career with stresses and deadlines).  Maybe I need to do some more praying and thinking.

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