One of my chores today is making a “drug run” for Ken medication. So, guaranteed, I will get out of the house. His doctor receives Ken’s medication through the mail and all we have to do it run across town to retrieve it. Not a big deal, but it does cut into my self-appointed chore of reading FINDING GESSLER again, looking for inconsistencies — like do I have all the characters with the right color eyes, hair, and other minor details.
I haven’t received my editor’s edits yet, and I’m getting a bit antsy. I know the publisher is going to want the final manuscript ASAP, so I’m feeling a little bit of pressure. I also want to pass the manuscript under the nose of a proofreader before I send it off, too. This is my writing team. As all writer know, a piece is never “done,” until you either have a deadline or you get sick of it and don’t want to fuss any longer. In this case, it’s the former.
While I sit on my butt, with my nose to the screen, Ken’s busy doing household chores. He’s emptied the dishwasher; now it’s my job to finish the chore by loading it again. Now, he’s cleaning the cat litter. (Today he’s on his own there.) And after that, he’ll probably sort the laundry and my stronger legs will run up and down the basement steps to complete the chore.
We’ve been a team since we first met. Like my writing team, we’ve never kept score as to who’s doing what; we just do what we can at the time and the other person picks up the slack. It’s a happy situation that has worked well for 17 years. As I watch him wither away from day to day, I marvel at his determination and strength to keep going–to hold up his end of the bargain. He’s my everyday hero. And I tell him so, often. What I don’t tell him is about my worst fear. When this team will consist of only one. I’m not sure that will ever work.