I'm leaning toward a nighttime job polishing floors.
Or cleaning Sinkiuse Square with a toothbrush, I don't know. A completely mindless occupation that nonetheless shows results in the morning.
I'll even do it for free if you promise not to harass me while I'm on the job.
Don't ask me what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, or how long until it will be done. Don't ask what you can do to help or suggest other things I could do instead of, or in conjunction with, what I'm doing.
Don't ask. Don't talk. Don't even stand there looking like you might talk.
Just zip it. And go.
I mean that in the nicest of ways.
The other 18, 20 hours of the day, please–talk, tell me everything and more. I want to hear all of it. I do. But for a very small portion of the day, one day, any day. Just . . .zip it. Please?
A thinking person might ask why I don't take the energy required for such a project and clean my own floors in the night. Or at the very least fold my laundry. Any mother will explain to you that if the alpha female is conscious, guaranteed, someone will seize the day and want to spend quality time with her.
Heartwarming, I know.
I'm not asking for my own personal hermitage here. Just an hour or so, unsupervised, on a regular basis. You can beat the door down while I'm in the shower or on the toilet or trying to sleep even. But sometimes a person needs to just be–no shoulder lookers, knee clingers, hand holders, clock watchers. No one.