Going to the BANK Like a Motherfucking GROWN UP

I am trying a thing.

I’m going to tell you the thing and then you will be like: Cat, that is the lamest thing. The rest of us do that every day. God.

Yes, but I work at home, you see. I know some of you do, too. And you know as I do that this sums up much of the reality of working at home. Awesome, yes, very, and pajamas? Check. Sleeping in? Amazing. Setting my own schedule? Well, I’m not exactly a disciplinnosaur, but yeah, it’s good.

But those pajamas can become a prison of slack, and the total lack of anyone yelling at you until you are SUPER LATE and the not interacting with other humans and the utter lack of schedule and the fact that the internets are on 24/7, well, it can make for a CaveCat who just sits in her house and wears lobster pajamas all the time and either works or puts off working until she hates herself so much she talks in the third person. Like, the very picture of Alice over there in the icon. I feel like that all the time. Plus I live on an island? So it’s a VERY good excuse to never leave or see anyone ever. Even islanders ask why they never see me. And I say: because I’m working (or feeling guilty about not working) all the time. There’s no "off" hours because there are no "on" hours–it’s all time I can choose to be awesome with or not and with great responsibility does not always come great power.

(This is so first world problems I kind of want to barf at myself, but I swear to god, no matter what Tim Ferriss says, if you have any kind of work ethic, working at home can become a kind of hell where there is no division of anything in your life, just work that has bled over onto everything else.)

So I am trying a thing.

The first thing was to clean the bedroom. YES I KNOW. I SUCK. But it is a paradox of my life that clutter and mess stress me out to a totally irrational level, yet my personal ability to fight against kipple and untidiness is next to nothing. I fucking failed that roll when I was like nine or something. Maybe it’s because when I was a kid I could never do anything right according to my step-parent, and thus had to perform every chore three times (no half-assing it if I did it right the first time, either. I am not kidding. My childhood was hilarious) for two years or so, and ask permission for the privilege. So when I got my own place I was like I WILL DO NONE OF THE THINGS ZERO TIMES. I’ve gotten better about that but the bedroom is like where my inner give a shit goes to die. 

But I cleaned it! All! and it is beautiful, you know? A lovely room under all that. October is very concerned that her clothes-beds are gone, but other than that, it is a happy place. And the second thing is I am making Dmitri get me up before he leaves (8 am) by making me coffee and putting it on my nightstand at which point I will feel so guilty–he made me coffee! So nice!–that I will drag my ass up. Ha! Guilt, I can use you! (Being an insomniac this is a big challenge for me.) Then! I will put on a WORK OUTFIT like I have a GROWN UP JOB and put on MAKE UP.

The make up is a big deal. Other than at cons I never wear it. But by putting it on I feel more put together and not like a loser. I put LIPSTICK ON, YO. I gotta live up to the lipstick!

I’m still trying to get out of the house by 11, but I think I’m going to have to not check my email in the morning to do that–there’s just so much admin stuff to do, especially with a book out in less than two weeks and two tours coming up. Like, obviously I have not gone down to the office (which I lose at the end of the month and I am HEARTBROKEN because I’ve written two books in there and it is the BEST THING.) yet today. But I will as soon as I finish this post! The lipstick says I have to! And I’ll stop at 6, and be a normal person on a normal schedule, because though I am naturally inclined to stay up all night, I don’t feel wholesome when I do.

So yes, in some sense this is stupid, to feel proud for cleaning my room and getting dressed and going to work. But working at home, man, it can lead to some serious ruts when you don’t have kids to fix your schedule and your work is entirely predicated on future returns. If I start work at midnight, no one will think less of me! But then I will feel gross and shamed for weird internal reasons.

I am sheepish about posting about this, but I’m like, eating right and I even put my hair in a ponytail today. Holy shit. Half the point of having hair this long was that I never had to do anything with it. And blogging = what you had for breakfast, right? (Cereal and coffee–breakfast of sixth grade champions. Isn’t it funny that the critique of blogging, then tweeting and FB, has always been "no one cares what you had for breakfast?" As if that’s what people are talking about.)

This is how I am beating the demons of working at home.

Also, I downloaded LeechBlock.

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