How Not to Work From Home
The fact that I wrote the title for this post this morning, stared blankly at it for a while before getting up to make myself a cup of tea and returning 10 hours later, sums up my work from home style perfectly.
I have a vague recollection of meeting people at parties who worked from home and struggled to click with them on the grounds that I was immensely jealous and wanted their life. I thought that working from home was a cushy number packed full of impromptu naps, leisurely lunches, online shopping and perhaps a couple of emails here and there to show willing. Despite now knowing this not to be true for most stay at home workers, it bears an uncanny resemblance to my working day.
I get up when my conscience forces me to do so. Head out for a coffee, I tell myself this is a necessary part of my working day and will have me firing on all cylinders when I return. Unfortunately I tend to over indulge, three coffees later and I feel like I’ve had my drink spiked by a vindictive barista and I’m completely incapable of work on account of the fact that I’m physically shaking. Not to worry it’s nearly lunch time, I can’t work on an empty stomach can I?
I will scour every nook and cranny of the internet for a recipe that grabs me, there’s no telling how long that could take, before popping out to get the necessary bits and bobs. Appetite suitably appeased I glance at the clock and shift effortlessly into panic/guilt mode. I have three hours left to justify my claim to work from home by actually doing some work.
I make myself comfy at my desk, open a host of none work related internet pages and the moment things get tricky I transport myself to a place less mentally taxing; this place usually comes with cats that play the piano, shoes I can’t afford and holidays I’ll never go on. Perhaps some exercise will put me in the zone, all those happy little endorphins will surely equate to some good old fashioned graft? Unfortunately endorphins don’t respond to sitting by a pool reading a book.
Back home and I find myself looking around the house for possible chores to do, that’s when you really know you aren’t cut out for this kind of work. I even tell myself “if I was to do some hoovering perhaps that would reduce the feeling of guilt I’m experiencing and actually make me feel a sense of achievement?” I try it and it doesn’t work.
Usually around this time Anna gets home and makes enquiries about my day; what I got up to, whether it was productive, why there’s a video of a cat playing the piano on the computer, that sort of thing.
Working from home is really hard work when you lack self control and will power in equal measures. Have you ever worked from home? Have you got any tips for a rank amateur?