I have officially made the summer switch from working THERE to working HERE. I have the privilege of not only a part-time job, but time off from my full-time job during the summer. Technology makes it possible for me to accomplish my tasks from home via internet and an aging workhorse of a laptop. I make my own hours, take breaks when I need them, and have pretty direct control over how much I earn based on hours I work. Am I complaining? NO! Well, maybe, some perhaps . . .okay, yes.
I report to the cyber-saltmine every morning at . . . .wait. I don't have to get up right now, so I will squeeze a few more minutes into snooze time. After all, I don't have to plan for the morning commute. (Yes, but that's 10 minutes when you WON'T be earning any money. Move yer bloomin' arse.) All right, then. I'm up. What should I wear? (This is your dream, job, remember? Wear what you want. Yes, the PROPERTY OF U.S. NAVY T-shirt works.) Coffee is already brewed and waiting. Mr. Powers is still pulling 8-3 at the school house. I will just have a quick cup with breakfast, and then after my second cup, which I now have time for, I will get on the computer and hit some licks. (You can have your second cup while you work, Idiot. Put the computer on the kitchen table.)
So here I am in my office, which today is the kitchen. I have everything I need--my working materials, a pen, fresh coffee, my phone. And the dog, I need the dog. Jolene? Come here, girl. With the dog stretched out beneath the table, I am finally all set. Almost. Where should I set my coffee cup? If I put it to the left of the computer, it will be on top of the printed materials I need to access as I work. If I put it on the right, I will knock it on the floor. I drink coffee left-handed. (Hello! This is a kitchen table. Put the computer on the side, not on the end. You will have plenty of room to spread your stuff out.)
Organized at last! I log onto my worksite and check yesterday's productivity report. Not bad, but not good either. Yesterday was Sunday, and I was sleepy most of the afternoon. On the weekends, they make you log off at 5:00 p.m. Today is Monday, though, and I can put in as many hours as possible. I will get started right away, but Jolene needs to go out. The other two dogs want in. They are confused by my presence at home on what is clearly a weekday. Dogs re-distributed, I begin my preliminary activity. I have my phone close by, because the company I work for offers great technical assistance, and I sometimes need access to it. My phone also alerts me to email as it comes in, Facebook messages, and sales at Target, all of which I will ignore. (You better not ignore that Facebook alert. You have a deployed child, remember?) Some of which I will ignore.
It has been an hour, and I have found a comfortable groove of action. I am not working with blistering speed, mind you, but I have a steady pace going, and I am far from needing a break. I type in a response and get an error message. I haven't seen this one before, but internet can be persnickety, so I log out. I log right back in. My account is locked. It must be an issue with the password, as I have recently had my project switched by the company I work for, so I probably should have changed my password at that time. No problem; that is why my phone is close by. I call the toll-free number and select tech support. A very nice lady politely informs me that this is not a technical issue. I need to speak to some one in content support. Uh-oh. I have a content problem? They usually warn me a million times if accuracy is in question.
It is 10:30 in the morning. I cannot log back in for another 15 minutes while my director researches the problem. He thinks one of my co-workers may have developed some issues which are causing my numbers to appear skewed, as we are randomly paired to ensure accuracy. (Who is this slacker? I don't have time to wait while y'all check my progress!) Of course I will wait, and thank you, Mr. Director for your feedback. It isn't lunchtime. All the dogs have come in because it has begun to rain. I do not need to go for a walk or have more coffee. I need to work.
This is the reality of "use-your-own-computer-make-your-own-hours-work-from-home." It is a blogger's dream.