Working from Home: It's Fun Until It Isn't

Over the last 10 months, I’ve come to realize that working from home is great! But – working from home is dreadful, too. Here is why:

THE PROS:

• I can’t remember the last time I bought gas for Ye Olde Silver Mare. My fuel budget thanks me.

• Speaking of more budgets, my lipstick budget is non-existent. I have been working on the same tube of MAC Ruby Woo Red all year.

• My water budget is at an all time low. I can only assume this is because I’m not, ahem, showering and scrubbing with the diligence I once was. You would think this would be offset by the increase in coffee mugs running through the dishwasher cycle.

• The house is cleaner on a day-to-day basis than it’s ever been. I’ve found that when you have to live with yourself, constantly, you put up with less of your own shit.

• I know everything that is going on in my neighborhood. For example, the same FedEx truck that took out a neighbor’s fence just drove by breaking the speed limit on my street. Amazon drivers struggle to find the right house for their deliveries, and based on the complaints on from my neighborhood women’s group FB page – most of whom come from SAHMs – they are rarely successful. There are two punks who live at the end of my street that I’m keeping my eye on. Fist shaking and lawn-watching are regular activities at Chez Shasta now.

THE CONS:

• My toilet paper budget is out of control. When I worked out of an office, I went through maybe a roll a month because I was never home. I just went to the store to buy salsa and toilet paper, and the bill rang up to $32. I will admit, I sneaked some fudge-covered Oreos in there; although considering I live with two dogs, I’m not sure who I’m sneaking them from? But I did hide them in the bottom of the bag in shame. But toilet paper, people. I need to start buying it in bulk.

• I can’t remember the last time I talked to anybody and said anything that wasn’t work-related, and that is slowly driving me mad. The other day the dogs interrupted me while I was licking the wall to ask for their dinner. Apparently, they don’t care for me to sing “My Cherie Amour” to them at random points of the day either. Winston can howl, it turns out.

• It’s bizarre the kinds of crazy theories about myself that I’m coming up with the more time I spend alone. Namely:

  1.       The reason why Mike Rowe won’t marry me is because no one, ever, will want to marry me (this made sense the other day over a teary PB&J; peri-menopause is real, ya’ll).

  2.       I am un-hireable because I can’t take a few months working from home.

  3.       Why did I get an English degree? Who does anything with an English degree but talk about it?

  4.       I failed an AWS Cloud Practitioner test. I failed that employment culture test. Ergo, I fail everything. Ergo, I AM A FAILURE.

  5.       I’m fat, too.

I’m sorting it out. It’s hard to be at home all the time with your laptop and your Amazon Echo. And the CIA listening in, of course.