Announcement: Right after I officially kick off my 30-day hair challenge, I go and pick up some kind of stomach flu (or something akin to it). In other words, I also don’t shower on sick days, so you won’t be getting a hair photo today. We’ll pick up with day five tomorrow, pinky swear.
While working from home today, I realized I have mixed feelings about work-from-home days.
(Note to my boss(es), if you read this: It is very, very gracious of you to allow us to work from home when we need to. Please do not take the below ‘counterpoints’ as anything less than extreme gratitude.)
A point/counterpoint on my feelings on working from home.
Besides Preston, I have virtually no distractions here and can bang out some solid work without having to stop to shower, commute, set up, stop for lunch, answer the phone, answer questions, go to meetings, etc.
Counterpoint: The “work day” doesn’t actually, you know, end.
It’s nice to be able to work uninterrupted, but it’s also harder to stop the workday. I start working when I wake up; I stop working hours after I’d usually leave the office; I don’t stop for lunch. Over-share: I can even carry my laptop into the bathroom with me to finish typing that email. So working from home definitely has “possibility for becoming a workaholic” written all over it.
Although I’ve equipped my desk with a blanket, a Snuggie and a space heater, an office chair is still, unfortunately, an office chair. There’s a lot to be said about the power that the snuggliness of a couch, two pillows, three blankets, sweatpants and a puppy have on your workday.
Counterpoint: Daytime TV.
It sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks. I don’t have anything recorded on my DVR at the moment (I have no idea how that is, seriously.), and I’ve already watched the Sex in the City movie twice on E! And it still isn’t good.
Point: QT with Presty.
I often feel guilty about leaving Preston to his own devices when Boyfriend and I have to go to work. I know he probably enjoys his alone time as much as I do – no one to yell at him for barking at practically anything on legs (and some without. Leaves and blades of grass, for example) that passes by our bay window, a big empty house to lounge in, things to chew on he shouldn’t be chewing on – but I still feel like he doesn’t want me to leave so we can always hang out. I’m sure I’m projecting here, but work from home, and said guilt disappears.
Counterpoint: QT with Presty.
He’s so cute. But he barks. At. Everything. I’m very afraid for the day he somehow makes it through the bay window, obviously because shards of glass aren’t good for a dog, but also because I’m terrified that squirrel or chipmunk or mailman or bird or biker or neighbor or mother-pushing-stroller or leaf or blade of grass would be dead meat. Or at the very least somewhat harmed, and then would likely sue us. (Okay, not the animals or inanimate objects, but you get where I’m going with this.)
He also tends to mistake work time for cuddle time, and it’s really not easy to type over the head of a dog.
Great armrest he is not.
But, ah, back to the bustling office tomorrow.