The Intrusion

I work in a relaxed office. We have the option of working from home and working on a variety of tasks as we see fit. Our editor-in-chief, in fact, does not even have a physical space in our office: she works exclusively from home. I send manuscripts and such to her home, and she then returns them when she is done. We do any urgent communicating via e-mail or phone. The problem is, our editor periodically declares that she is simply too busy and we cannot speak to/at her until after a specific date. Fine. I keep my e-mails to a minimum and send the manuscripts to her for her to attend to when she again has time. But not this time.

“I am going to catch up on what’s here and then I am off the clock until Feb 6. Please do not send home anything for me as it sits around and intrudes into my consciousness.”

I’m going to start using this as an excuse for everything. I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone. It intrudes into my consciousness. I really can’t look at your e-mail; it intrudes into my consciousness. You wanted me to cook? But, alas, it intrudes into my consciousness.

I’m sorry, I must stop writing this blog: it intrudes into my consciousness.

 

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