For the last year and a half or so I’ve worked from home, and I admit it, it’s pretty nice. I don’t commute and am often shocked by the number of cars on the road on the rare occasion that I have to be driving somewhere around 6 in the evening. The gas-price roller coaster has affected me very little.
I rarely wear anything but T-shirts and shorts, and shoes are almost a foreign concept. And while this is pretty nice too, a part of me misses the fashionista I used to be. I mean, I used to have about 20 pair of boots in every shade of brown, black, tan and red; slides, mules, pumps; strappy sandals. I still have a lot of those, actually, but when do I wear them? Never. It’s a bad sign when I put on makeup and my husband practically has an orgasm. I keep thinking I should wear makeup more often, and maybe go nuts and find an article of clothing out of the regular rotation of Buffett/Mets/Sloppy Joes T-shirts. It might be good for my marriage and my self-esteem.
And then there’s the hours. When I quit my last work-from-home job to take on my current one I was like, OK, I’m going to work normal hours now. No 12-hour days where I go straight from the computer to bed. Only, it’s kinda hard. When your office is RIGHT THERE it’s so easy just to work whenever. I know a lot of people assume that if you work from home you spend half your time on the couch watching Ellen but it really doesn’t work out that way, and for every 10 minutes you spend on a blog, I can guarantee there’s that hour after dinner where you “just want to check e-mail real quick.”
And this type of schedule is what caused me to whack my face on my desk at about 4:30 Monday morning. Because it was 4:30 Monday morning. And I’d woken up thinking, crap, I have a lot to do – might as well start. And you can do that kind of thing when your office is mere yards away from your bed and you can’t sleep anyway. However it doesn’t make you less likely to do stupid tired things – like bend down to pick something off the floor and horribly misjudge your location and WHACK the right side of your face right into the desk. If I’d been a cartoon there’d have been stars coming off my head. Not one of my more brilliant moves. I fully expected a black eye (which I planned to tell people at the WW meeting was because Barry beats me when I gain weight. Fortunately for everyone, it never emerged.)
So that, my friends, is what working from home is like. It’s not safe and it’s not pretty, but it beats the hell out of rush hour on I-4.