It's Day 3 of my beaverancée Katr and I both working from home. We're still engayged (thanks, Viscount!), so clearly things are going okay. We hit a couple of snags early on - the coffee cream went over to the Dark Side sometime Sunday night, so Monday morning's coffee was ruined - RUINED!! - and since our effing table from the Brick continues to be MIA, I'm still working on a T.V. tray table in our "office". But overall, the transition's been pretty smooth - and tomorrow, Katr's going in to the office, giving me the day to fill our bathtub with warm donuts and slide around while watching Firefly on the portable DVD with the Gina Torres parts on slow mo work on stuff.
It seems that the most important element in successful office sharing between beaverancées is open and honest communication. Communication about our space needs, bandwidth needs, phone needs, snack needs and random fondling needs. I am finding, however, that this need for open and honest communication poses a slight problem.
The thing is that Katr's communications are generally pretty simple and direct. Mine, on the other hand, are layered, like a delicious trifle, or like the Kaibab Limestone, Toroweap Formation, Coconino Sandstone and Hermit Shale that make up the top four layers of the Grand Canyon. I've been tracking our exchanges over the past couple of days and they say alot about who we are as people. For example:
I say: Would you like the last Snickers?
I mean: I would like the last Snickers. If you ask for the Snickers, I will give it to you. Then I will return to my T.V. tray desk with my Mars Bar and seethe. Later, when you ask me if I want some tea, I will seem distant.
Katr says: No, you go ahead and have the Snickers.
Katr means: No, you go ahead and have the Snickers.
I say: I'm having a little trouble with this template.
I mean: I've spent ALL MORNING trying to figure out how to get this stupid, PowerPoint-y arrow to disappear and it WON'T and I've read all of the help articles and it doesn't make sense and I HATE IT!! I HATE IT!! And if you love me like you say you do, you'll come fix it or at least be as upset as I am about it!! Plus I have cramps!! And I'd like you to bring me a muffin!
Katr says: Aw, that's frustrating. Here, I'm sending you a link that might help.
Katr means: Aw, that's frustrating. Here, I'm sending you a link that might help.
I say: Hey hey.
I mean: I've been writing historical lesbonic fiction all day. I've finally figured out how to avoid having each of the girls undo all 25 of each other's tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, take off their bodices, their overskirts, their hoopskirts, their petticoats, their corsets and their chemises before they can access each other's trembling loins. Wanna know how I did it? Two words: crotchless drawers. That's right. They're not only historically accurate but they're HOT. Take off your shirt.
Katr says: Little handsy today, aren't cha?
Katr means: Oooo - I bet my avatar in Second Life would look awesome with bigger boobs.
Do any of you guys see . . . a pattern here? Like, a pattern of some kind?
The funny part is that I assumed, in the past, that Katr's communications were as subtext-laden as my own. We've been together nearly four years, yet it is only recently that I have come to understand that I, in fact, am merely projecting this subtext. When Katr says "Boy, the kitchen is a disaster," what she actually means is "Hey, the kitchen is messy". She does NOT mean "WHY can't you keep the fucking kitchen clean, you lazy, free-loading, donut-bath-taking beaverancée?? WHY??"
Hmmm.
Clearly I have some issues I need to work out. And clearly this "sharing a home office" thing is going to lead to some much needed personal growth.
Now take off your shirt.
