2-3 months ago, I fantasized a lot about working for myself, from home. I would set my own hours, walk my dog, eat healthier, and exercise. I’d avoid the daily commute and the office ogres.

I keep thinking, be careful what you wish for.

But, of course, I wasn’t wishing for this. Because what I was wishing for was freedom. And this is not freedom. The fact that I’m working from home and walking my dog is not a freedom I’ve gained, it represents a loss of so much.

And that’s just one of the many small mindfucks of all of this. There’s a lot about it that I should ostensibly love. But of course I don’t. Because of course this is all terrible. And even introverted spinsters like me are grieving. Our friends and freedoms. The many small interactions that make up a life.

Beau is forlorn. This is not what he signed up for either.

He witnesses moments of frustration with work. Moments of just staring. Bursts of manic energy, dance parties. More phone calls than he wants. He comes charging when he hears my voice on calls, sure that if I’m talking, I’m talking to him. Confused when I’m not.

I’m working way too much.

The machine continues oblivious in its white, male self-absorption. I have a flimsy detente with this machine at the best of times. It pays my bills. I get to pay for things. We play our roles. My version of it isn’t the worst version of it. But now this feels more ludicrous. I keep thinking “surely not now” when it asks for another powerpoint.

Other kinds of obliviousness feel puckish and reassuring. The spring flowers keep budding like some mischief-maker wearing a ballgown to a funeral. The moon waxes every night and I find its aloofness reassuring.

I am thinking MASSIVE things. But struggling to do the smallest things. I am thinking about dropping out and moving and the importance of building a garden. How have we constructed entire existences that don’t touch saltwater and soil? I need to urgently correct this for myself.

How do I move, how do I reinvent, how do I buck it all?

But also: How do I roll out my yoga mat and just stretch? My back is killing me. Is everybody’s back killing them? How do I read just a few pages of a book? How do I eat?

I might just let my hair be grey when we’re done. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same way about a some purse again. A purse for god’s sake. It's hard to imagine that lust now. I’ll be disappointed if we just bounce back to the exact same spot.

I want it to be over. But I also don’t want it to be over until something has changed forever.
Related Posts with Thumbnails