I work Monday-Friday, 7:30-4. I leave home at 6:55 for the 7:03 bus, then get on the train. I’m usually there by 7:25. The office is miserably cold; I’m wrapped in a blanket most days — an actual blanket, that I bought with the express purpose of using in the frigid igloo office. The running joke last year was coworkers were going to buy me a Snuggie for my birthday or Christmas. Both of those gloriously fantastic days passed without my receiving a backwards fleece robe. I guess they were joking. I wasn’t.
We’re losing space at work, so I’m sharing a desk and have to telework two days a week. I am not complaining about this. Working, from home, rarely getting dressed, while possibly eating all the kids’ snacks because what else does one do when one is home and in pajamas with Chopped on in the background and there are snacks?
But, now that it’s summer, it’s slightly difficult to concentrate what with the arguing and the whining and the begging for snacks I’ve already eaten. It’s been raining a lot too, which doesn’t bode well for telling them to just go outside already.
At least it’s warm.
I keep saying I’m going to go to the library for the quiet, but I never do. There’s the whole getting dressed aspect, but then there’s just missing all of this. I complain about them being loud and bothersome, sure, but really, otherwise I’d be at the office freezing, watching the clock angry that it’s only four minutes since the last time I looked. As usual, I add the caveat that this is not how I feel all the time; sometimes I’d RATHER be at the office because conversations like this are not conducive to an editor’s ability to edit:
This is hard too. I can’t type like this, y’all.
On days that I telework, I still do 7:30-4. When I come downstairs around 7:20, I tiptoe. There’s a pattern you have to walk on the stairs in order to miss the creaky ones. And yet, he wakes up 11 minutes after me, without fail. And he joins me. And I feed him first breakfast. There’s no electronics use for them until 10, so he plays alone until his sisters get up. We didn’t do camps this year, so the days are long free-for-alls. He also talks, incessantly, about the most random things. It doesn’t aid my concentration, but come on, where else am I going to be asked jokes like how did the elephant skate in the street? Because he had on purple underwear.
Some days are busier than others and I absolutely have to put my foot down and say no, I’m working. And then other days, I tend to listen to, then laugh at, the jokes. After all, it’s summer. And he’s Spiderman.
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