My Stalker

I have a stalker. Actually, I think there are several of them. I feel their eyes on me as I drift through my house in my stocking feet on New Year’s Day. I hear them calling to me softly as I organize my pantry. I sense their ghostly pull as I stir the black eyed peas on the stove and slice the fresh-from-the-oven cornbread while I’m cooking our good-luck evening meal.

These stalkers are sneaky. They don’t present obvious requests, like my kids when they need help styling their hair, or my dog when he needs to romp outside. Nope, their demands are less apparent. More of a nagging that simply won’t go away until I acknowledge and deal with them.

I have the same stalker of anyone who works from home – the computer, the Blackberry, the stack of work filling your inbox like you’ve been away on a year-long sabbatical versus a week-long holiday. If there was a work-from-home police force, I swear I’d be in touch with them right away. “Emergency!” I’d say. “Help me, there are things I’ve got to do at my house – like taking down the Christmas tree, adding people to my Christmas list who sent me a card who went missing from my list, and figuring out a place for the kids’ loot from Santa!”

But there’s no international crime-fighting force for evil e-mail senders, voice mail vampires or Tasmanian to-do lists. So I suppose I’ll have to do my best to ignore my stalkers until Monday, when I am officially back in the office.

Until then, ignore the blinking Blackberry, the beeping voice mail, the crushing tower of paperwork – and tell those stalkers you’re staying safe in your holiday cocoon – at least through the weekend.

Xo-Amy Mac