I’ve worked from home (full time) since 2014. Before that, I taught legal courses for paralegals, worked in a law firm (part time), and busted my ass to get my writing business up and going. When people find out what I do, the few that actually believe me often say, “Man, that must be nice. You get to do whatever you want.”
The fact of the matter is that working from home is both wonderful and its own very special kind of hell. Don’t get me wrong. Working from home is a necessity because of the things my family needs…and I don’t like working around a bunch of people (because most people would rather gossip and play on social media than do their damn jobs – which means those who DO work at work are often “rewarded” by doing everyone else’s work, too). Yesterday was a good example of why I work from home…because there was no way in HELL I could have done anything else:
2:30 am – Rise and shine! Oh, but I had gone to sleep around 1:00 am (and the previous night – no sleep at all). My husband has a job that is very flexible but can also lead to some really weird hours. He had to be at work by 3:00 am. Since I needed the car, I had to take him to work.
3:00 am – Thankfully, it’s not that long of a drive. So, the tiniest of Bulls and I went home. Of course, he didn’t really fancy the idea of going back to sleep. I let him climb into our bed and he went back to sleep around 5:00 am and slept until 7:30 am. I was awake the whole time.
7:30 am – Time to get up and get Baby Bull ready for school. He’s in first grade (for new followers). We ate breakfast, got dressed, and gathered up the things we planned to drop off for Teacher Appreciation. He’s in a special needs class and has four teachers in his room. Realizing that the bags were heavy, I loaded them into the van.
8:20 am – I walk Baby Bull to school. His assistant comes out to get him and I come back home to immediately drive the van to the front of the school to drop off the insanely heavy gift bags. There may or may not have been a lot of soda, sweet tea, chocolate, and junk food involved in the packing of the bags.
8:30 am – I sat in the van to avoid the crazy late parents and then lugged the bags into the front office with the help of another teacher that knows me.
8:35 am – Drive to the next town south of me to take my mother and stepfather on their monthly errands.
10:30 am – Drop them off at their apartment and head back toward the city, but I also have to stop and put money in our middle son’s bank account and pay my office rent. I thought I’d be cute and go to Wal-Mart because they had a small bank branch in there. The teller (clearly new and totally clueless) would not allow me to deposit money into his account because I am not on his account. Whatever. I will not argue with someone over something I do on a very regular basis. I go pay the office rent and go to a branch closer to our home. They took the money (cash), but applied it as a check. So the kid didn’t have access to his funds until 7 pm. Whatever.
12:00 pm – Stop at the grocery store and score .79 cents per pound turkey thighs. Pick up three potato wedges because by now I am fucking starving. I realized I forgot to take that pesky little heart pill that keeps the afib away. Dammit. Drive home.
12:15 pm – Take in the food, let the dogs out, and check my emails and other messages. Turn on the television for background noise. Prepare the turkey for the oven.
1:00 pm – Started working on a monthly project. Wonder where the dogs are…oh, sweet…another giant hole near the fence…but they were still in the yard. Make them go inside while I block that hole off. Cuss the fact that I have dogs.
1:15 pm – Back in the house and working. Start worrying about picking up the Baby Bull and needing to pick up the husband because I had yet to hear from the husband. Keep working.
2:00 pm – Still haven’t heard from husband. Make an executive decision to pick up Baby Bull since I know he’s at recess and doesn’t have much to do in the afternoon. I dislike feeling cramped for time. We come home and he wants a honeybun…then fusses because I gave it to him. Kids… Start working again on a different project.
3:30 pm – Hear from the husband. I can pick him up around 5:30. I work until about 4ish. The turkey thighs are done. So, Baby Bull and I eat and then play together. He was fussing at me previously every time I would work. He’s not always so fussy about it (again for the new readers).
5:00 pm – We head out so we can stop and get gas, which is sometimes an adventure in its own right. We take the city streets because who the fuck wants to take the highway at rush hour? Well, several streets were shut down for God knows what. So, I had to double back and take an alternative route.
5:45 pm – We reach our destination. My husband is clearly sick with some sort of upper respiratory goop. Stop at 7-11 to get him something to drink on the way home. He’s got the chills so when we got home, I had to turn on the heater. Made him a plate of food. Got him settled.
6:00 pm – Shit. We are out of Dr. Pepper. Back to the store (which is always crazy at the beginning of the month).
6:45 pm – Get home. Let the dogs out again. Get everyone something to drink. Meander about the house. And worry about working all night. Deadlines are an actual thing even when you work from home.
7:30 pm – It’s clear the Baby Bull is tired. We do our night time routine (excluding daddy because daddy has cooties and Baby Bull doesn’t need them since he had them at the end of last week).
8:15 pm – I sit down to write about the art history of the Pacific civilizations. I also return various emails. My dog punks out on me and goes to sleep.
11:00 pm – Fuck this shit. I’m going to bed.
Today, I’ve made up for yesterday although I’m still writing about art history. Lunch consisted of prosciutto, mozzarella, and strawberries.
Working from home seems like a job goal for many…but for those of us who do it, it’s because it is a necessity for our lifestyles.
Oh, and tune in tomorrow, folks. I’ve already received some confessions from other work at home professionals. To submit yours, go to the Confessional page.
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