I’m busy, fuck off.
“My time”.
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On a day load of Zoom Calls and Remote Work, it’s easy to forget how long we’ve been in this hell hole.
One thing is for certain, working from home has its side-effects. One of them being, people assume you just don’t work.
Spending time on my computer screen, with Nicolas Jaar and Floating Points playing on my Spotify, as I power through between Slack, Work Emails, and the occasional Google Meet(ups) — it’s easy to forget, I’m at work.
It begins just like any early stages of a flirtation, “Hey could you check the door?” to “Hey, could you keep an eye out of my Amazon delivery?” to “Hey, could you fix the television — because obviously you’re on a computer all day?”.
Hey, I’ve got a job — but you might not have noticed. I’ve been on my computer.
Everybody knows, being on your computer at home is not a real job — how dare you!
Don’t even get me started on Freelancers.
Soon now, the romance turns bitter as the realisation sinks in — maybe I dove in headfirst, and I’m in too deep.
Do you really not have any regard for “my time”?
“Our Time”?
“Your Time”?
“What’s mine is yours time?”
How about, find a hobby whilst I work time?
Should I go to the local library and work there, time?
Except there’s no local library, and I like my home.
It’s mine. It’s comfortable. It’s a space I’m able to work from.
Work from home. Isn’t that the point?
