The 9-5: I'm out! Yay? Perhaps not.

The 9-5: I'm out! Yay? Perhaps not.

I’ve been working from home for quite some time now, and as much as I love it, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Suffice it to say, I had absolutely NO idea the implications for the rest of my life to have my office in the same room I relax in.

This has been my journey:

Oakland, CA: Year of 2014 - Months 4 through 8

I just moved into a new city, in a new state, having kept the same employer I had before I moved. I was excited. I looked at the new land which lay in front of me with exuberance and ambition. “I will be SO much more productive being my own boss!” I thought. “I will work from my desk, my bed, my couch, my dining room table! IT WONT BE LIKE WORKING AT ALL!”

Now, that last statement was to be truer than I initially realized. I quickly found that I was more productive, how I positively thrived not being under constant watch, and how refreshing it all seemed. It didn’t feel like work. Everyday just felt like a productive weekend, accomplishing tasks for the sake of accomplishing tasks rather than having been told to do so, and hawked over as I grinded away.

But, about a month in, there became a problem…

Everyday five o’clock would roll in…and I’d hardly notice.

What’s the big deal about this though? Isn’t that what we all dream of? Having a job where we don’t watch the clock? A career in which we never find ourselves counting down the minutes until freedom….because we are already free in our work?

Well, the problem was, then six would come and go…and seven and ten and twelve…

And when I finally realized what the fuck was going on, I would tear myself away from an unfinished task, eat some dinner and pass out (many times on the couch).

But it wasn’t the lack of sleep that killed. The morning would come, a healthy seven hours later, and I couldn’t rise. I wanted to finish the task I had left undone the previous evening, but I knew there was another following it, and another, and another. I had previously prided myself on the blistering pace with which I fill up to-do lists. But the fire was gone.

10:00 a.m., sometimes 10:30 a.m. became my new hour of awakening. I would groggily come to and immediately become aware of the time, bucking out of bed and into old clothes washed with the guilt of irresponsibility. I would over-caffeinate and grind on the to-do until my belly snarled at me to eat a banana.

And then, around three in the afternoon I’d hit a wall. Shaking I’d drive to taco Bell (always Taco Bell) and bring back a feast of garbage. I’d sink into the couch and glut my heart out in front of the TV.

And like some sick joke, five o’clock would roll in…and I’d hardly notice.

And six and seven and blah blah blah…I’d be in front of the TV for hours and hours…and I’d fall asleep on the couch.

So: What the fuck?

What happened to my discipline, my work ethic? Why couldn’t I, for the life of me, catalyze that ambition I was so proud of and just get back to the original routine?

Would I ever get it figured out?

Kinda fucked if no…

The 9-5: The Neverending Experiment

The 9-5: The Neverending Experiment

How I've Failed at Stuff, and Why it's Matterful

How I've Failed at Stuff, and Why it's Matterful