We’re all whining about being stuck with our kids during Coronavirus lockdown. If our kids were on Twitter and cable news, all we’d be hearing is how they’re stuck with us.
And what about the elephant in the room? We’re also stuck with each other. We’re stuck with our wives, our husbands, our significant whatevers. 24×7, no less.
Yikes.
Luckily I have a place to escape to, my home office. Not only that, I have an excuse to escape there. I actually work there. During normal times, I occasionally make money there.
And therein lies the rub. These are not normal times. There is no money to be made.
So here I am, sitting in my comfy chair in front of the fireplace with a glass of Spanish wine – I think it’s a verdejo, whatever that is – working. I say working in italics because I’m only sort of working, sort of blogging, sort of whatever.
So what if I’m not generating income. I’m downstairs. The wife is upstairs. We’re both happier that way. Not all the time, mind you. But put us together 24×7 and, like a critical mass of radioactive material, it wouldn’t take long for us to go nuclear.
Trust me. It’s in everyone’s best interest that I spend eight or so hours a day down here.
But hey, don’t cry for me. Across from my office is a wine cellar. Down the hall is a fully stocked bar, pool table, tube and tunes. The works. Of course there’s no sports to watch down here lately but that’s beside the point.
I love my work.
Don’t judge me.
Turns out we’re sort of built for this shelter in place thing. We live in the mountains with acres and acres between us. We’re used to stocking up on food, booze, and of course, toilet paper. We don’t have kids. And I’ve worked from home for the past 16 years.
For me, this isn’t the new normal. This is the old normal. Or just, well, normal.
God bless man caves. Woman caves. Whatever.