"It was said of Kong Fuzi that the man would not sit if the mat was not straight."
I glanced back over my shoulder, slightly bemused at this. "Eh?"
My wife put her her hand on my arm, holding it with just enough force that I could feel it. "Kong Fuzi. Confucius," she said by way of explanation.
"I bloody know who Kong Fuzi is." I spun my chair around I was facing away from my desk. "But what has that quote got to do with anything?"
"It's to do with you - you and your little rituals. They're so - ." My wife stopped short.
"'Amusing'?" I suggested playfully. "How about 'endearing'?"
"Bloody exasperating!" she exclaimed. "I mean, look at this!"
"What?"
"This!" My grabbed hold of the back of my chair and turned me around so I was facing back the other way. "Look!"
I looked at my desk. I had been laying out my calligraphy tools: the slope, the paper, the inks, the pens all arranged in order of nib size ... ."Just the way I need it," I replied.
"And I have been watching you fistle about for the last half-hour, putting everything in its exact place. And you know what is going to happen next?"
I assumed an expression of meekness and shook my head.
"You are going to look at that," my wife pointed at the clock on the wall, "and complain that you never have enough time to do anything. And then you'll be a grumpy bear for the rest of the weekend."
"Hey!" I protested. "There's only so much time in the day, and there are so many things that need to get done."
"And if they aren't done properly - !" My wife glared down at me from above, like an angel come to deliver a message from the Lord. "Well, you are going to do something creative today. And you are not getting up from there until you do!"
"What about - ?"
"I'll do the chores today. You - create!" And, with that, my wife made off, slamming the door of my office behind her.
I looked down at the blank sheet of paper I had taped to the writing slope. "I just can't be creative," I muttered. "Not like that. I need a cup of tea first."
