Wednesday, January 25, 2012

A Door

Long day. Project. With actual deadline. And accountability. 
Wondering: How did I do this? Once upon a time...
I was responsive, responsible, thorough, quick. I was a procrastinator - always - but still.

I used to return phone calls. 

When was that?
How on EARTH did I do it?

It seems impossible. Like a vague recollection that I once had the ability to fly.

Then it hit me. 
A door. 
I used to have a door. 

I used to have a chair. And a desk. And drawers. And NO ONE EVER CAME AND DUMPED OUT THE CONTENTS ON THE FLOOR.

No one stole my scissors. Or phone. Or took the address book I was using, ripped out three pages, scribbled in black sharpie, sneezed violently on it and then tossed it nonchalantly back on my desk.

Each night, I would leave a stack of papers on my desk - prioritized for completion; and when I returned, they were in exactly the same place.  And someone else had made coffee.


The biggest distractions in those beautiful door-closing, do-not-disturb setting, no facebook-having days were the intelligent adults I wanted to converse with and the birthday cake at 3pm. Cake. At least twice a month
"all these birthday celebrations really interrupt my afternoon"  

And then I went to the bathroom. Alone.