To my extreme chagrin, I have to work just like all the rest of you. After having all of this wonderful time off during the holidays, it’s especially chagrin-filled. The more I am allowed to rise at my leisure at 9am, the happier I am as a person. But sadly, that will only become a reality if you, dear reader, make me famous. Get to it.
As I stumble every morning out of my hateful sleep and awake to the sounds of angry little morning trolls beating their tiny troll drums inside my head, I think to myself, “Self, why do we have to get up at such a godforsaken hour? And why has the dog (or cat) not learned how to MAKE ME SOME GODDAMN COFFEE YET?”
These questions make sense to me during the wee hours, but then the horror that I’m awake wears off and I’m left with nothing but my sheer determination to arrive at my office before some choad drinks all the coffee without starting another pot. I warn you, Sir Choad (because I know it’s a dude, not a ladyperson) – if I ever actually witness with mine eyes the thing you do, I will proclaim “you should be shot” and throw the glass carafe at your head. I will take aim. I will not miss.
Once I settle into my office, I am immediately enraged by literally tens of personal emails from websites to which I have inevitably given my email address. Why, just this morning, it appears I have an urgent message from Sting. Sting, I didn’t realize that you cared, or that I was high on your radar. I thank you. Now kindly fuck off out of my emailz.
As my day meanders on with a succession of request upon request of people needing shit from me without a thought as to what I might need, I long for the sanctity of lounging in bed and operating my tiny world from there. Because honestly, if I can convince someone that this is way more productive than me getting up and getting dressed, it can totally be accomplished. I’m actually very focused when I work from home and am not easily sucked in to the Lifetime Network or reality shows. I *may* be sucked in to the idea that pants are a complete waste of time in all circumstances. That is the only negative. I swear. And it’s more of a negative for you, not me.
Either way, I like to start out with a thimbleful of optimism at the beginning of each new year, so 2012, you are already looking brighter simply because I have a vision one day that I might be able to get paid doing something that is legal while remaining in my robe. The vision, once far too distant, is a shimmering heat wave on a road in a desert that leads to my possible future, and I will relish in that desert dream until someone reminds me that the desert is full of insects and thirst.