It's not like this is an unusual situation. I go to work pretty much every weekday of my life, barring a couple weeks of vacation scratched out of the year, and it's not as though I don't like my job. For the most part I do satisfying, interesting work and these days it's rarely unpleasant or boring, and my office is in a stunning library building on a beautiful college campus. My commute is reasonable. Corporate culture does not encourage staying past 5:00. I definitely count myself among the lucky.
But that doesn't always cut it. There are some days when a regular paycheck, health benefits, and the promise of intellectual engagement just aren't enough. When twice the paycheck wouldn't be enough. I'm a nester, and I've feathered myself a seriously nice one -- kind of bowerbird-like, full of shiny crap and odds and ends, but that's how I like it. Some mornings I feel like I'm prying myself out of there with a psychic crowbar.
There have been times in my history when my home life was so lousy it was a relief to get to the office, and I dragged my feet when it was time to leave. I've worked hard to change that, and successfully. But the backlash is that now, if I didn't have to leave my home in order to keep it, I probably wouldn't, ever. Or at least not often. It's the nicest place I know.
If working from home was ever an option I don't doubt I'd eventually end up with cabin fever, but I sure wouldn't mind finding out for myself.
Speaking of working from home, I'm going to be doing a bunch of that in addition to my day job, because thanks to all your love and support I've been voted one of Bookninja's guest bloggers for the first two weeks of July. The whole process reminded me a bit of running for Class President in fourth grade -- not so much the nature of the competition as that it was the only other time I've ever been up for any kind of mass election. And I remember my mom, when I came home glumly announcing that I had withdrawn from the race because nobody really liked me, saying in the way that all card-carrying moms do, "But honey, it's not a popularity contest." And I remember staring at her with incredulity that she could even think of pawning off such bullshit on me, because of COURSE it was a popularity contest. What else could it possibly be? Even though I was nine and still kind of wide-eyed about the world, I remember her credibility suffered for that one.
So this is my revenge on fourth grade. Everyone set your RSS feeds to Bookninja -- the guest blogging commences on July 2, but you should all be reading it now. Thanks for the love, guys.
[And upon careful cross-platform reading, I see one of my fellow guest bloggers, Sarah, has also invoked student council elections. I'm guessing there's a definite pathology at work amongst us all...]