I work from home.
Which means everything you think it does.
No shower, working in PJs, laundry everywhere, conference calls during soccer practice, the works.
Once a week, however, I meet with LadyBoss, face-to-face, for a two-hour whirlwind brainstorm of to-do lists, what ifs, and careful examination of where we're going and where we've been. Or more specifically, where I'm going and where I've been. And some kid talk too, because if she weren't signing my paycheck, we'd be friends.
And for this, with much effort, I transform: I blow dry my hair, put on big-girl clothes and dress-up shoes. So she firmly believes she hired a grown up.
Which she did.
But sometimes LadyBoss cancels, because she is a one-woman show pulled in many, many directions and she 100% trusts I'm pulling my weight and hers, and I'm flexible and easy to reschedule.
Because I work from home.
Except, godfriggin'damnit, today she cancelled AFTER I already blew dry my hair and put on make-up, and dress-up clothes. If I'm already dressed, come hell or high water (had both recently, thank you slut face Irene), DO NOT CANCEL.
Because now here I sit, with good hair, make-up, and big girl clothes, and absolutely no one to appreciate the time, effort and exhaustion that goes into the massive timesuck. And only the dog notices I don't smell like 5-jog old under armour (read it again, you can smell me from there).
But mostly, it means I need to get dressed twice this week. Which is not easy for me.
Those who know me in real life as opposed to blogging life, know I clean up well, but not often. Which is exactly why working from home works for me.