Less any reader be misled, I truly do understand that the term 24-7 was originally coined to advertise a business or service entity’s round the clock availability to its clientele.
As a public service to other working-at-home wives, allow me to clarify for the men in our lives the normal signs of a female telecommuter after two days into her workday week. Ladies, whether you accidentally print this snippet and place it in the bathroom library or decide to tape it onto the inside lid of the butter keeper is entirely your choosing.
This past year, I’ve struggled weekly to effectively communicate to My Rogue just what my scheduled work week is. Granted, I call my own breaks now and then, but I still operate on a daily routine. My original 1.3 mile commute may have ended, but in my perspective, the few steps from bedside to desk still qualify as a legitimate, gear-switching beginning of another workday, worthy of respectful quiet and even a modicum of awe for the self-motivation repeatedly displayed by one’s hardworking spouse! But I digress…
Of COURSE I can pursue my freelance writing assignments in between the political banter and the occasional commercial blasts, Honey… it’s okay: keep the radio at Volume 12. I’ll just work around it; should my I phone ring, I can run over to the master bath, shut the pocket door and run the fan if I have to so I can hear my caller…
Who would have thought that sitting at one’s desk would imply one is focused on the task at hand? I sit at my desk and, truth be told, I don’t always type. Sometimes I pause, waiting for the right word to come. Sometimes the pause turns into a minute or two while the wheels slowly conjure up the desired adjective; sometimes the word never appears. Okay, okay, so I’m just not moving, and neither are the piles of paper, but I AM still thinking…
This is not a sign that I am bored or in a stupor; nor does it suggest that I am available to look up the landscaper’s’ phone number; the same number that we should have written down in our address book several years ago when we first hired him; the very same one I look up every time and we fail to record because our address book is never on the same floor that we are.
More coffee? NO PROBLEMO; a second pot of coffee coming right up, Honey! I used to brew a new pot mid-morning in the office; why should I consider it any trouble now? Especially when you can’t put the book down until you know who the killer was… You know I’ve never been a feminist… (but I’m beginning to reconsider some of the finer points).
What was once the quintessential “home desk” with all the pretty keepsakes displayed like in Sunset is now completely covered with post its, stacks of incoming baskets, memos, dr. appointment cards and notes, and a few grocery ads… Like the meeting of the intercontinental railroad, the final spike connecting this woman’s prioritized tasks has been hammered securely! Home and work now collide daily on my same track. I’m wheeling and dealing the intermingling of moneyed tasks with un-moneyed tasks and piles of unfinished tasks. WHAT paperless society???
No dear, I’m not going anywhere right now; just looking for something…
I’ve decided to take a break – I set the timer for ten minutes – should be enough time to find that old dental guard of mine if I can remember what drawer I stored it in… it can’t be lost; I paid four hundred dollars for that thing in 1985… no way would I toss that thing away; used to wear it to protect my teeth from grinding at night… THERE it is! Wonder if these things work during daylight hours?
After a 90 minute lunch break (half the time will be spent meal planning, using every little bit of leftovers in an effort to prepare something edible and enticing for us both), I’ll go back up stairs and begin again, but not before I decide to take another supplement or two to keep my energy up through the afternoon. Drat. The last multiple vitamin; will need to add this item to the grocery list. I return to my desk, find a pen but can’t find the list I began yesterday…could have sworn I filed it with the coupons…
I realize then that it is suddenly quiet. The radio has been turned off. I can hear a soft snoring coming from the bedroom. He isn’t reading. He is napping.
Sounds like a plan…