Lazy Weekends

I don't know about you, but I have a very hard time writing when there are other people about.  Oh, I don't mean emails and Facebooks posts - I mean the kind of writing that I think of as "work."  Screenplays.  Poems.  My novel.  Stuff like that.

I am not sure whether this happens specifically because I'm a woman who writes, or whether this is a condition peculiar to every writer who lives in a household that had more than one person in it.  For example, as I was in the middle of typing the first sentence of this paragraph (people my age type, and we also remember using large quantities of White-Out, that gunk in a bottle that made your term papers look as though you had typed them on oatmeal) my husband walked past and said, "Hi, Love Bunny."  Which tends to derail one's train of thought, especially since one does not wish to be considered unfriendly (or even possibly pouting over the fact that somebody ate all the blood oranges) for failing to reply in equally affectionate terms.

So I don't get much done on the weekends.  I can't even blame it on the "Room of One's Own" thing, because my family is actually very considerate, and possessed of such tremendously Zen-like Inner Resources that while we are all at home they are actually able to ignore my presence for hours, until somebody needs to know whether we have any triple-A batteries and a teeny-tiny Phillips-head screwdriver.  If I were to retreat into the bedroom with the laptop and post a sign on the door -

WRITING!  

GO AWAY & DON'T BOTHER ME! 

I WILL EMERGE WHEN I'M GOOD AND READY!

they would absolutely respect that, and would probably find something to do - something that's really a lot of fun that I'd be sorry I missed.  Probably something involving an outing I'd been talking about for weeks as being a great idea, but costing perhaps a bit  more than we ought to be spending right now.

As I say, I don't get a lot done on the weekends.