Normaling is Fun...

Here's a NSFW question if you can handle it. Treat it rhetorically, please. I have no need for actual answers when I'm merely trying to illustrate a point. Brace yourself, Prudes, here we go...

Have you ever been in the middle of having lovely consensual sex in an upstairs room when you hear someone's key in the front door? 

HAS THIS EVER
HAPPENED TO YOU?

Look, sorry for going straight to the nub of the issue here. Except I haven't yet, that's still to come. Still, you know. Sorry. But, back to my potential voyeuristic problem. I'm not talking about an illicit affair or something that shouldn't be happening. This is more a returning flatmate situation, or a family member that has dropped off some shopping and is only nipping in. Has that ever happened to you? If it helps you can lose the upstairs/downstairs arrangement. I'm referring more to the dawning awareness of someone else in the building. It could be someone waking up in the next bedroom, an unexpected car pulling up outside, or the window cleaner's head emerging behind the hastily closed curtains the second you get jiggy. 

Have a think and ponder the impact that would have on the sexy time. For some of you - filthy buggers - it would add an exciting thrill to the proceedings. For those that feel this way, my eventual point is going to be lost on you. Be on your way and good day. For many, however, it would be completely off-putting. It might not actually impinge on your privacy for real - if the bedroom door was shut and the person that had entered the house stayed downstairs, there would be no immediate reason to stop. But I'd bet money it would drag you out of the moment and, I'm guessing, reduce the likelihood of the wave-crashing, champagne cork-popping conclusion you were planning. It would cramp your style, stop you from losing yourself, and put you off. 

My usual writing set up.
Quite clearly alone.

So, now we're suitably uncomfortable and scanning our minds back over our every shag, let's get to the point. From January this year, I've no longer had the house to myself as much as I did. The person that also lives here has rejigged his working hours to accommodate more time off. Two weekdays more, in fact. Good for him. (That sentiment is predominantly sarcastic.) Good for him but, it's fair to say, not good for me. Having a silent, empty house for twelve hours a day, has been essential. Conversely, it's also an out and out luxury. I know that deep down. Writers with kids, jobs and responsibilities don't get to be so fussy. But I've been spoilt. For nine years this is how I've worked. Silently and alone. Whilst I might be able to make notes or research stuff with someone else around, I absolutely cannot write. I know this because I've tried. It always ends up being a waste of time. I reread the same bits over and over, unable to take them in. Everything is forced. I might type words but they invariably end up deleted the next time I'm alone and can process what I've written. Like the interrupted sex, someone sitting in the lounge enjoying their day off as I'm in the kitchen trying to write, would cramp my style, stop me from losing myself, and put me off. 

I was fairly annoyed about it over Christmas. During family get togethers and mates' gatherings, I had to listen to the new January plans being shared excitedly. Obviously taking time off from a busy job is great for the person having the break. Good for him. (Again, more snark.) It was just infuriating to realise that this new routine would screw me over in the process, regardless of whether that was the intention or not. My own plans for 2020 were to get the draft of Book Three whipped into shape, professionally edited, beta-read by several people, with the view to formatting and front-covering by the start of next year. With a couple of days a week taken away from that, it would push things back even further. The process takes long enough as it is.

I needed a plan. The good news (for me this time. Hurrah!) was that I found one. 

The ladder adds a particular 
je ne sais quoi to the ambience

The Pharmacy business of which I'm a silent partner (the easiest of all the partner roles, I've found) has an upstairs office. In fact, now that the non-silent business partner was planning on relaxing at home two days a week, that office was going to be empty. It occurred to me that a desk and chair in a room with a closed door, might just work. On New Year's Eve I popped in and surveyed the scene. Was this a place I could begin the editing and rewriting of Book Three? Well, look at the photo and decide. Does this scene speak of an environment that nurtures creativity? I hope you can see the answer is a big fat NO. But, it was still better than my mostly open plan house. I used a measure app on my phone to work out what space I had to play with, and with the help of eBay, Ikea, and some drawn-to-scale plans, the like of which have not been seen since my GSCE Design and Communication days, I planned out a work space.

A desk and office chair aren't really necessary. As pictured above, my preferred writing position is an upright but comfy chair, legs elevated on a stool, laptop balanced on a Stewie Griffin cushion, with the whole thing resting on my thighs. That was the vibe I needed to recreate in the Pharmacy office. So, that's what I did. 

It's a work space!
Happily, my yellow chair has
got a lot of love from
the Pharmacy staff.

Last week was the first week of the new routine. It was really quite odd waking up on Tuesday and getting showered and dressed first thing. You know, the way I used to when I went out to work. In 30 Rock, the character of Jenna Maroney is dating Paul, a Jenna Maroney impersonator. After trying one outlandish sexual fetish after another, they find pleasure in 'normaling' Behaving like normal people. That's what it felt like last Tuesday. There was nothing unusual about what I did, but for me it was a real change. I got to the office at ten, along with a flask of tea and cheese and crackers, sat in my yellow chair, and stayed there until half past six. Apart from two wee breaks (no, you're welcome) I didn't move. I also read the entire draft of Book Three, and made notes about each chapter along the way. I chose not to get on the Wifi, I kept the door shut, and had the most productive day I can remember. When Thursday came, I was excited to be able to repeat the process, and I did.

1.2 litres of tea is an essential
part of the new routine.

I know it's probably novelty that's making this feel like a breakthrough. Or simply that without Wifi, I'm not scrolling through Twitter every few seconds. But for two days last week I was on fire. The other new thing, that feels like I'm normaling again, is that chatting to colleagues at the end of the day is rather lovely. As I left on Thursday, the locum Pharmacist that I know a bit, chatted with me about the film Bombshell that we'd both seen. He recommended a book to me, and we talked about how good Little Women was. It was five minutes of natter, but it was really nice. I haven't made end-of-the-day small talk for years, but I liked it. Normaling. It's fun.

I was genuinely happy
at this point. It was the second
day of using the office and
it was all working out.

If you've made it to the end of this, and weren't put off by all my sex talk, then good on you. It's a longer Ramble than usual, but it's been a strange time. What I thought was going to be an infuriating start to the new year, has turned out to be surprisingly positive. It might be early days but I'm happier about this change that I'd assumed. There's probably a lesson to take from that, but I've written enough this week. What with all the normaling as well, I'm shattered.

Have a lovely week, folks.