Love and marriage, cats and dogs, fire and ice, love and marriage….. Some combos work better for some people than they do for others. We all make choices that others might not understand, but many people have told me that they would never consider working from home. Home is after all where we chill. Right?
Is this true? Do you relax when you are at home, or do you find yourself dashing, dusting and feeling generally quite dazed, manic and exhausted? Bathing and sleeping aside, home is not really the first place that comes to my mind when I think of chilling and kicking back. When I walk into my house, the bills leap from the mat and slap me in the face. Anything that looks important is normally in a few pieces because Bones found it interesting too. If it’s really engaging, then the piece with the voucher or the one stamped URGENT is simply gone. Gone presumed eaten, that is.
The carpet that was vacuumed last night looks like a Flokati rug, and my head bangs at the sight of just how much hair a small terrier can shed daily and not be bald. I turn into the lounge and trip over the vacuum cleaner. Just as well I never put it away, saves me lugging it back down the stairs later. Drats! Not only did I leave the vac out, I left it plugged into the power, which explains the pool of water around the freezer …..
The ‘phone rings, while I am striding off towards the kitchen with the bath towel that I used to mop up most of the flood, and as I open the washing machine door I notice that yesterday’s washing needs re-washing because the sun stopped shining before I could peg it onto the line. While pegging, re-mopping and explaining to the ‘phone that I never forgot to pay my tv licence, I was actually protesting some BBC coverage which seemed important at the time but which I cannot identify right now – It’s time to dirty some more dishes while hovering above the still wet floor. I start humming that song – It goes something like, “Ain’t it good to be back home again…..”
I realise I can hum in expletives when hubby comes in and chucks his backpack on the wet floor, cap on the tv, shoves the dry washing off the sofa to make space for the dog, and tells me how he fancies frying up a storm for supper.
Working from home is what we DO. We might not like it, but dust settles for the slob and the houseproud in equal measures and it will gnaw at your nerves until you reach for the yellow duster, after which it’s over. Another day of working from, around, at, in, and all over that place we call home has begun.
I did mean to write about working from home for a profit, but somehow I lost the context and am now going to head off to bed, to chill, at home. Yawn.