I worked from home yesterday. If I ever make a habit of it, my routine will need a few adjustments.
I kicked off at 7am in my leopard-print flannelette jammies and matching fuzzy bathrobe, dashing off my first story of the day about the insane prices people are prepared to pay for limited edition Bonds Wondersuits on eBay.
(Actually, my day started with a “what the fark am I going to blog?” panic at 6.30am. I was poised to post a “sorry, I’m speechless” message when I got inspired by the pretty sunrise. It’s funny how the posts you dash off in 10 minutes can be among your most popular, while the ones you slave over for hours wither and die. Go figure.)
Then I went in search of brekkie and spied some leftover pork noodles in the fridge. A little voice in my head insisted they were “lunchtime food” but I ignored it and chucked the box of stir-fried loveliness in the microwave.
As I scoffed the noodles I wrote my second story of the day … and discovered I’m an awesome multi-tasker: I can simultaneously write about David Campbell’s Star Wars themed birthday party for his son, eat noodles and play fetch with the dog.
At 9am, as I wrote about a poor dad mistaken for a kidnapper by his neighbour, I got a Facetime call from the youngest.
The youngest discovered Facetime on her mini iPad over the weekend and is quite delighted by it.
I can’t say I was thrilled to see myself on my phone screen with cockatoo hair, no make-up and flannelette jammies.
I was even less thrilled when the youngest handed her mini iPad to her dad so he could say hi too.
While he saw me with cockatoo hair, no make-up and flannelette jammies every morning for around 20 years, it’s DIFFERENT now.
Since I got thrown over, I’ve been trying to rock a never-looked-better vibe. (There is NO truth to the rumour that this artifice extends to leaving the washing basket in the hallway with lots of strategically placed sexy lace undies on top when the ex comes to pick the kids up on Sunday mornings.)
That Facetime call destroyed all my hard work.
But it didn’t get me out of my jammies.
I was too busy writing another story, this time about Gwyneth Paltrow’s freakily mini-me daughter Apple.
When I finished, I was feeling peckish … and realised I’d made a foolish mistake by eating my lunch for brekkie. Bummer. I’m not a cheese sandwich kind of gal, so it was a push-the-panic-button moment.
My grumbling tummy forced me out of my jammies, into the shower, then into a pair of trakkie daks (it’s was a public holiday, after all) so I could drive to the shops in search of victuals.
I was planning on takeaway but I thought, bugger it, I’ll eat my curry in the food court while I trawl through Facebook for story leads for a change of scenery.
Back home, I banged out a story on a poor mum whose daughter’s pram was collected by an elderly driver at a pedestrian crossing, while doing a bit more “fetch” multi-tasking with the dog.
It would help if my dog understood the rules of fetch, especially the important one where you return the ball to your owner’s feet so they can throw it again. Charlie prefers to drop the ball around three metres away and bark at me with increasing intensity until I get up and do a human version of fetch.
Finally, I couldn’t resist writing a little something about the Redhead Days festival in Chicago. And I asked readers to share pictures of their titian cuties on Kidspot’s Facebook page. They responded in droves. Nawww.
My head was starting to ache at that point – too many words – so I called it a day and headed off for suburban Chinese with DD.
We ordered poorly from an incredibly dour waiter, but I’ve never met a suburban Chinese meal I didn’t fancy reheated for brekkie the next day, so I got a doggie bag and tottered home to bed.
And there you have it: a day in the life of House working from home.
Have you ever worked from home? Did you get out of your pjs before lunchtime?
Song of the day: XTC “Senses working overtime”