The Downside of Working From Home
I know. I’m lucky. I get out of bed in the morning, and I pull on my favorite sweatpants, my favorite sweatshirt, and my bedroom slippers. I don’t have to deal with commuting on the subway, or with the nation’s worst traffic (I *really* didn’t want D.C. to be number one in that!), or with winter cold, precipitation, or wind.
I live and work in a townhouse. I share walls with neighbors on either side. I’ve lived here for 21 years, and in that time, I’ve had neighbors who were partying college students, boisterous military guys, families with small children, slaves to two yapping bichon frises, and one rather … adventurous couple.
The worst neighbor, by far, is the one who decides to have construction work done on his house. Especially bathroom renovations. Three bathrooms, over three weeks.
I know that it’s not fair for me to ask them not to work. And I know that renovations I’ve had done over the years would be just as annoying for a neighbor who worked from home. And I know that the workers aren’t purposely being noisier than they have to be.
I could pack up everything and work from the library for the rest of the month. (Of course, that has its own problems, because libraries no longer have quiet workrooms!) There’s always the Panera across the street. Or the Starbucks in the hotel that’s a block away. A neighbor (in another row of townhouses) offered to let me work in her kitchen.
I’m in the midst of copy-editing a manuscript right now, though. As a consequence, I’m frequently consulting reference materials — dictionaries, thesauruses (thesauri?), the first book in the series, volumes about moon phases and ancient gods and goddesses, and, and, and…
This too shall pass! I know that is true.
But *man*, I wish they’d gotten the demolition done when I was out of town last week!
Mindy, feeling oh so sorry for herself today (but still grateful not to have a commute!)