at the very same appointed hour, hear your husband say oh. my. GOD. upon going into the hall bathroom, to find that the ceiling has caved in and the room is full of insulation and soggy wall board?
Would you rather...
spend the day quietly working on your manuscript, fending off the ancient voices saying what is the effing POINT, instead finding the satisfaction in reconstructing the manuscript's narrative, its arc, its aesthetic, and whatnot,
do this same whole manuscript deal shut in the bedroom with your dog, who is quietly whining in a voice full of pathos because he cannot fully inspect the roofing guy, who is here, there, and everywhere, about to give you an estimate for which portion of your fortune you will part with so that your roof will not leak?