I love my work. I commute from the bedroom to my office (about 30 feet), park the dog on a Turkish kilim, and go to work. First I check my email and recharge my iPod. Next I see what folks are twittering about. Maybe I pay a bill. Get some breakfast. Refill my drink. Take the dog outside.
You see where this is going, don’t you? I love my work. Once I get around to it.
Working for yourself seems to be everyone’s dream. But it’s not easy. Oh, sure, I get to sleep in, stay up late, work when I feel like it. But my only office buddy has vocabulary limited to sit, down, outside, car, treat, and no. (Although, during my cube rat days I had some coworkers who were about the same. Even some supervisors.)
And, if I’m not procrastinating, I’m forgetting to move until my legs fall asleep and then I have to stump around until they wake up. Still, as my sister observed, I have the perfect job for me. I get paid to read books and play with a computer. In fact, when I’m doing a particularly dry tome on, say, econometrics or portfolio construction, I often reward myself with real computer play. Two chapters of this book buys me 30 minutes of World of Warcraft. Finishing my quota for the day nets me a scoot down the road or some more WoW time.
And, if I’m really smoking, and manage to actually work on my current write-it-myself book, I can do pretty much what I damn well please for the rest of the day.
However, I tend to procrastinate and find myself where I am now: 400 pages into a book that is supposed to be 622 pages and is definitely due on Wednesday. However, I have 613 pages downloaded into my computer and the project manager says there are four more chapters to come. Sounds more like 700 or 800 pages. Which means I’m way behind schedule. Which means the sun can shine all it wants, I’m not going out in it expect to meet the dog’s biological requirements.
Flip side: more pages to index, more money. Silver lining, folks.
Now, time to get some marionberry shortcake (my favorite) and pull a better-part-of-the-nighter.
Today’s quota: 200 pages. Done: 141 pages. 59 to go!
Books in the indexing queue: Three after this one. No rest for the wicked.
Books I’m writing: Four. One in final edits, one on hiatus because I lost my way, one on hold until the one on hiatus is finished because the first three are a series, and one roughed out waiting for me to do the hard part: research. All are mysteries. Two are theological in nature. All involve lesbians.