excerpt from a short story in progress

She is trying to write at the computer. Anna has been trying to get on the computer for two days now. Her husband has been hogging it remorselessly. Now that she is finally on it, he keeps coming in the room about every fifteen minutes with a, “what are you doing,” or “what are you looking at?” or something to that effect. It is making her crazy. How is she supposed to get anything done if she’s not even allowed time to think? Obviously, what she does is not as important as what he does, because she doesn’t have deadlines. Deadlines make your work more important. So, when she’s on the computer, he can’t stand it; he has to see what she’s doing. He will sometimes spend six to eight hours on the computer in one day, and when she gets on for two hours, he has something to say about it. It is never a good time for her to get on; there is always something else that needs to be done. But now she is on, eight hours after he promised her she could get on, and he won’t leave her alone. He gets offended when she acts impatient with his questions. Anna feels as though she might have to hurt him physically just to get some peace. Next time he walks in the room, she’s decided to get up off of the falling-apart, rickety, old chair that they recycled from her uncle’s estate, and waylay him with the heavy, glass duck that sits on the desk. If she’s lucky, she can knock him unconscious without spilling blood on the floor, yet hit him hard enough to put him out for at least an hour. This way, she can actually get some writing done.
Of course, it won’t happen. Anna has these fantasies often, though. She feels it is healthy for her marriage, to carry out elaborate plans in her head. It calms her down and creates a sense of satisfaction that she wouldn’t get with mere frustration. If she can mentally maim or kill her husband every time he acts like an idiot, it will save a lot of arguments. For instance, when he uses her car and moves all of her within-reach things to the backseat or worse, the floorboard, she can imagine running him over repeatedly in their driveway. On the occasion that she asks him to bring in the groceries while she is otherwise engaged in something that she can’t get away from for a while, and he does, but leaves all of the frozen foods, raw chicken and dairy sitting out at room temperature because he “forgot,” she can entertain herself by mentally stuffing an apple in his mouth and cramming him into the oven. It’s great therapy.