Never All By Myself by Hannah Rowan #romancegems

Most writers are no strangers to social distancing or isolation.  Many of the authors I know comment that today’s situation isn’t all that different than their regular routines.  At first glance this would seem to be true.  But is it really?

For many writers, the idea of being closeted at home, assuming there’s a sufficient supply of coffee, chocolate, and wine, seems like a dream come true.  For some writers with a live-in partner, however, blissful isolation with the freedom to focus on their writing has turned into an impossible dream.

At least it has in my house, where the spouse is a personal trainer who is accustomed to spending at least four hours a day, seven days a week, at the gym.  In the absence of a gym or other people to train (read that torture by forcing them to perform physical activity of a nature that requires sweating, not chocolate) this man has turned his attention to improving my physical condition.

Every day we head to a different park where we slog through mud, scramble up rocks, or trudge along miles of trails enjoying the view of trees, trees, and more trees, which don’t even have the decency to sport some leaves to break up the monotony of the drab gray scenery. Occasionally we come upon a body of water that not only provides some variety, but also serves as a breeding ground for minuscule insects that fly up my nose and also feeds the gooey mud clinging to my nice aerobic sneakers.  This whole process takes several hours.

But wait, there’s more…!

I could look at this enforced isolation as a perfect time to work on my writing, but when we get home…

The spouse heads to my office to check his stocks on my computer while simultaneously closing the tabs I left open for my research.

So, OK, I will use this time to have some tea and do the crossword to exercise my brain, except, the spouse is now shouting for me to help him because the #^%$^& computer is doing some sort of %#$%# thing that’s not his fault.

Eventually, I do settle into my chair, retrieve my lost tabs from my history, and hear “Are we going to eat soon?”

Yes, we’re going to eat.  And I also answer whether the mail has come, and do I believe a certain politician could be so dumb, and do I have any books because he’s read all the ones from the library, and where do I hide the light bulbs, and the batteries, and, and…

My children knew not to interrupt unless there was fire or blood.  At this rate, I’m betting there could be some blood very soon.

Ah, the joys of togetherness.  We play dominoes after dinner and I’m exhausted but I stay up all night to find some quiet.  And think about how, when the virus has gone and life goes back to normal, I’m going to go to a nice little Airbnb I know of, where I can enjoy some alone time and grow to miss the company of my dear husband.

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