What is it about working in an office that makes you soooo sleeeeepy ’round abouts 3 or 4 pm? This never happens to me when I’m working from home. I never take naps; instead, I feel like I’m constantly busy reading and writing and checking emails and, maybe, getting up to wash dishes or make my bed or fix something to eat.
Of course, if I had to, I could nap—and maybe that’s exactly why I don’t need to.
photo credit: Andrew Scott
I have to go into the office. I have had this hanging over me since last night, and I still have yet to do it. It’s probably a 10-minute cab ride, 30 by bus, but it’s grey outside and I’m just so productive with my ass in my lovely blue CB2 chair I’m loathe to leave it. And having to do something as mundane as venture to 45th Street to move a few files from server 1 to server 2, well, it doesn’t inspire definitive action. As you can see.
Instead, I am reminded of the nice things about working from home. Such as:
photo credit: Liz Wong
Northeast, we’ve had a hard time these past few days/weeks/month, haven’t we? (Pardon me, I missed out on the first part as I was busy jetting from Florida to NY to Jamaica and back to NY. Unemployment!) But I hear from those around that it’s been pretty tough. Bleak. Damp. Constant, bizarre downpours. A monsoon season, if you will.
When I got laid off, everyone said, “Oh, you’re so lucky to get laid off in the summer. I’m sooooo jealous!” Driven by their words, I admit I perhaps naively flashed forward to September, when my tan would be savage, my psyche relaxed, and the perfect job suddenly available after my 3 well-deserved months of fun in the sun.
But this is not going to turn into a weather rant, oh no. For as much as people are bored/sick/depressed about the weather, claiming we now “live in Seattle” and running out to stock up on sun lamps and vitamin D, as one wise blogger said, “The only thing worse than constant rain is people constantly complaining about constant rain. Whining won’t bring the sun out, I promise.”
Unemployment jeans: One week
Being unemployed has altered my daily wardrobe rather dramatically. Where once dresses with cardigans or black jeans with cute silk tops were the norm, now I sit in plaid pj pants and a white V-neck tee. At some point during the day I will change into my workout clothes. That is your indication that I will go to the gym.
Now let’s say post-gym I have plans to meet a former or possibly future colleague, or just to get drinks so I don’t feel like a total shut-in. What to wear? That dress makes me look like I’ve been at work all day. Can’t have people thinking I’m in denial, or worse, a wannabe. That top screams “Look at me, I’m employed!” And those pants … no. I don’t wear pants, even when I do have a job. It’s been too chilly and rainy a June to put on one of my numerous beachy sundresses. And so, inevitably, I turn to THE UNEMPLOYMENT JEANS.
The exterminator just showed up. No sign of the mouse since yesterday, although my sleep was fitful and I woke to some drunk fools singing loudly and badly around 8:30 am. Isn’t that too late to still be drunk? Or too early? Is this a new side effect of the recession? Buskers outside the window? They sounded like mourning cows, honestly. I’m assuming they were drunk. God, I hope so.
As for the mouse, I have a theory he was just passing through; he certainly seemed to want to get out of here in a hurry. There’s nothing for him here – I’m home too much! He probably thought, If only she had a job, I’d have this whole space (“an efficiency,” my 80-something year old exterminator dubbed it) to my mousey self. Instead, she had to lose her stinkin’ job. Jeez. On to the 3rd floor, where that bald guy is gainfully employed 18 hours a day…
The exterminator, who was himself a bit mouselike, came early, shock of shocks. And I suppose the benefit to my being unemployed is that I could sit and wait for him if need be all day long. Yep, nothin’ pressing. I got alllllll day, baby. “When will you be home?” he’d asked. “Um…always,” I replied.
Why, oh why? Is it not enough that I have been laid off, but now, I am faced with a rodent in my apartment? The perils of working or “working” from home – you may see things you do not want to see. Also, carpal tunnel.
I had a feeling. Ever since I came back from a March ski trip and saw the pellety indicator that some small mammal had been digesting near my sink, I have known that my mouseless existence was a tenuous situation. I am scarred, a bit, as my last apartment was riddled with holes, and some band of party-hardy mice found their way in, only to organize various raves underneath my stovetop for a series of days. They were so loud I had to close my bedroom door to sleep. They ate no poison. They ventured near no traps (for which I was actually grateful because what do you do once it’s trapped? Ew.) Finally, I plugged up all the holes I could see in my apartment with a caulk gun. And they never returned.
