/ commute

The Ten Foot Commute

I could get used to this. My computers are ten feet from the bathroom, so after a quick shower it’s a few paces and I’m at my “office”. Oh sure, the RNC has scared away lots of people from the regular nexus of commuter angst that is New York’s Penn Station, but I’m not taking the bait; I’ll wait till Dubya has butchered his speech and the conservatives have packed up their shit and headed back to the red states before I go back to Metropark station to make my dreaded sojurn to the city. In the meantime, I’m loving this work from home gig.

Aside from a chair that seems to consist of only a plywood board and some low-grade foam, I’m very comfy here. The smell of fresh cut grass wafted through the windows today. I had a sopressata & provolone sandwich for lunch and caught a half-hour of “Reservoir Dogs” on the TV. Emma paid me a visit at 5PM—and every fifteen minutes thereafter—begging for dinner, which she knows full well is not served until 7:30. I could set my watch to her meows, and they brought me much joy and comfort.

My computer area was never meant to be a home office, but my makeshift setup is serving quite well, save for the DeSade chair that is flattening my ass as I type this. I have my Powerbook sitting next to my PC monitor, and I can check & send office email, grab files from the server via VPN, and chat with co-workers using IM. I check my office voicemail every hour on the hour (personal best for navigating the menu and entering my password is ten seconds, but I’m confident tomorrow I can break into the single digits). I have a lighting calculation running on my Powerbook, and if I need to do more calcs tomorrow I can upload the model to the office via SSH and run them on a faster computer there. A co-worker’s email woes were diagnosed over the phone, and save for the lack of face time, the entire process from problem report to resolution was no different with me being at home than it would have been if I were at the office.

I will say this, you end up working more hours when you work from home. With the commute eliminated, you still wake up when you wake up, and so you end up ready for action long before the usual starting bell. Then, when six pee-em shows up, I’m starting to hit a groove, and since there’s no train to catch I end up sitting at this very computer long after I would if I were in the city. I guess that’s only fair, and I don’t complain, I only mention. For example, tonight I decided I was done working for the day at about 8:30PM, and I pulled up a chair this morning at about the same time, only AM. Subtract an hour for lunch, petting the cat, and munching on cashews (which must be banished from the house if I ever do this again) and you have an eleven hour workday. But I don’t complain, because at 8:31PM I was on the couch talking to my wife and drinking a beer.

Why do I make that miserable commute to go to that miserable city every day? It makes less sense to me all the time. Hmm.

Hmm.