I’ve noticed that during any R&R time that I’ve managed to claw to myself over the last few days I’ve been more reluctant than usual to answer the doorbell or the telephone.
In fact “reluctant” is an understatement.
I’ve just refused outright to do it. And it’s felt absolutely great.
Not that I’m shutting out friends or neighbours you understand – I’m 99.9% positive that most of these would be intruders were cold callers, charity workers and salesmen. You can always tell. Usually I at least open the door and give them a polite no thanks but this week I’ve just ignored them completely – and taken great delight in the fact that the TV and any ambient household conversations were all perfectly audible.
On the occasion that the telephone has rung and I haven’t recognized the number I haven’t answered it. Sorry. Too bad. Not interested. Even if you are Keeley Hawes begging me for a pint, a curry and a tongue sarnie.
It feels wonderful to be free of the slavery to the ring tone.
I’ll communicate when I’m ready to, thanks.
And when I want new windows I’ll do my own research and make my own decision in my own free time.
Until then the drawbridge is pulled up and there are sharks in the moat. Attempt to cross at your peril.