So I’m on my lunch break, sitting outside on my balcony with the laptoppy, a steaming mug of french vanilla java, homemade chocolate chip cookies, a smoke (yes, I started again. shame. fuck off) and the urge to sigh a big, huge sigh of relief.

You would think that working from home would be easy.

And, yanno, it definitely has it’s perks.

For instance, I can work in my pj’s. Or nekkid.  I don’t have to comb my hair or put on make up.  I can get up for coffee pretty much any time I want.  Switch loads of laundry between work tasks. (well, I could. I don’t, but I could)

I’m at home.  I’m comfy.  It’s all good.

Or mostly good, anyhow.

Some days it’s actually harder than working at a “real” job.  Like in an office or hospital or whatever.

Because no one else that’s in your home really gets it.  They don’t treat you like you’re working, they treat you like you’re available.

It also gets stressful because you’re in the same place, day in and day out, with no definite lines between work and not work.

And you can’t actually hear the tone in your boss’ voice when he/she corrects you on something so you take it harder.  Or I do, at least.  But also, your boss can’t see you cry or throw stuff when you get sad or mad over being corrected so it’s good, too.  Heh.

But mostly, what happens is I work three or four more hours than I’m required to/supposed to and I forget to take a lunch and then by dinner time — which ends up being seven, eight o’clock — I’m cranky and hungry and stressed out and have no time left for actually cooking and cleaning and stuff.

So today…

I’m taking a lunch.  A full hour.  Actual food. (If cookies and coffee count as food) And time to breathe and regroup for a little bit.

I should do this more often!

On a totally positive note — I’m awaiting a package with two of my most longed for toys to arrive today.  The Benjamin Bond and the Pure Wand.

I’m going to fuck myself stupid all weekend long, even if Taylor is busy with motorcycle stuff. (He and a friend are supposed to go pick up like 8 gazillion scrap bikes and work on them, removing parts they can sell and getting rid of the rest…  or something…  this weekend)

Edit. No longer awaiting the package.  It is here.  I have been transported to a small place in heaven where bondaged ghosts and one and a half pound steel toys exist in harmony.

And…

My lunch is nearly over.

Oh well.  It is a three day weekend and it starts in a mere three hours.

What are y’all doin’ for the holiday weekend?