Since I work from home, my wife sometimes wonders what I do all day. I’m a writer, so the fruits of my daily labor aren’t always apparent to her, and I’m pretty sure she thinks I spend most of the day goofing off.
That misconception was fueled when Denise came home early from work last week. She found me in my bathrobe, looking like a shaman while I paraded around the house with a handful of smoking incense sticks.
The bathrobe wasn’t a surprise. Denise knows that I’ve always claimed to do my best writing while wearing my “comfy robe.” But the incense had her, well, rather incensed.
“What, precisely, are you doing Jeff?” Denise asked in a huff. Read the rest of this entry