On Working from Home

The ability to work from home on occasion is a tremendous fringe benefit. Occasionally I need to be at a particular place at a specific time. Otherwise, I can carry out most of the functions of my job from just about anywhere on the planet. As long as I have a working telephone and Internet access, I'm good to go.

Over the years I have developed the habit of working from home a day or two a week. It's the only way I can move forward on anything requiring the least amount of concentration. Especially when writing is involved, I can get more done in a day at home than is possible with a week in the office. A few months ago things got so busy I started working from home as many as three days a week.

Here, too, I'm lucky. Many of my coworkers can't work at home. I'll admit things were less distracting before we got the dogs. Compared with small children, however, Tico and Toodles are no distraction at all.

Then the powers-that-be announced our building was to be renovated. We were asked if we preferred to relocate to another office temporarily or work from home. With visions of all the writing I could get done, unfinished projects I could wrap up, and back-burner things I would at last have time to address I leaped at the chance to work from home.

Now, two days into my third week of working from home, I hate it. Electing to stay in your pajamas to work on a project at home is one thing. Working at home because your office is a disaster area and you have no choice is an entirely different thing.

I miss my coworkers. I miss the ability to pop into an office to ask a quick question. Now I have to send an e-mail message and wait for a response. It's a little thing, I know. But the cumulative effect of all the little things over the last two weeks and two days is significant.

I've often wished I could work from home all the time. Just another case of being careful about your wishes, and another reason I remain...

The Crotchety Old Man