Day 8
Originally posted in 2020 as part of the series The View From Here: Life in Lockdown
Today is the day I realized just how much I hate commuting to and from an office. I have never worked from home before—retail, yes; waiting tables, yes; temp jobs, oh yeah—but it’s one of the few positive things to come of the ongoing virulent shitstorm.
This afternoon, I signed off from work, closed my laptop, and realized I still had quite a bit of time before dinner. Now, I love lists. I love tasks. I love deadlines. And I REALLY love crossing things off my to-do list—total endorphin rush. My brain snarfs that shit up like a meth squirrel in a barrel of nuts. Did you read about the meth squirrel? Some guy in Alabama decided he wanted to turn his adorable, fluffy-tailed pet into an attack squirrel. Guess what he figured would make that happen? Yep, meth. Long story short, he’s in jail. The owner, not the meth squirrel. I guess I shouldn’t call the meth squirrel a “meth squirrel.” That seems insulting. I mean, it’s not his fault his owner gave him so much meth. Sorry, meth squirrel. I shall now call you by your given name, which is Deeznutz. That’s right. Well, what would YOU name your squirrel?
But let’s put Deeznutz aside for the moment and get back to the topic at hand. I had a bit of extra time, something that never happens, so I decided to start crossing things off my to-do list. In the time that it would normally take me to drive from the office to my house, I:
Did some light yard work
Started a load of laundry
Vacuumed the entire house
Took a quick shower
Started dinner
Holy. Task. Master. I felt so accomplished, and now I don’t have to do any of those chores over the weekend. Fine, I’ll take a shower at some point.
It was then that my lovely fiancé signed off from work, closed his laptop, and listened attentively as his endorphin-juiced meth squirrel of a future wife listed off her accomplishments for the day and did the sort of victory dance that would earn a professional football player a hefty fine. He then glanced at the clock and reminded me I would not normally be home from work for at least another half an hour, which led me to conclude that this particular meth squirrel wants to keep getting her fix.
Commuting. Sucks.