Thinking about it today, I realized I spend somewhere in the neighborhood of 2080 hours each year in my office at home. This room is maybe 12ft x 13ft in dimension. It holds my desk, which is huge, and a CRT table, which is the furniture that time forgot (this thing survives more spring cleanings than most Dybbuk chests, I swear). I have the requisite bookcase, lamp, wall art et cetera. And a crosscut paper shredder, because you know, information wants to be reduced to packing material.
That’s a lot of time to spend in one sparsely furnished room. But if you look at it against any random, somewhat defensible national statistic, people spend a tremendous amount of time in their cars. We are a commuter economy. If I look around for some similar, reasonably outdated statistics, I can surmise that Joe Average spends about 260 hours each year puttering around. This is exclusive of the so-called pleasure trip. That’s like six and a half work weeks! I don’t even get that much annual vacation time!
Wait, there’s more! I don’t even own a car!
That’s right, no car. Car free now for four and a half months. (What, that’s it? After five years of telecommuting?) The wife thinks I’m insane, should have my head examined, and maybe when the baby is here and the wife goes back to work I’ll be forced to reconsider. We shall see.
My daily commute is a trip to the coffeemaker on the way downstairs. That means I don’t have to get up really early and do a lot of hair waxing and cheek scraping. I can brush my teeth, shower, and thus satisfy the USRDA of bath habits. I may have to blog at a future date on the topic of the disaster that is growing unchecked out of my scalp.
Today is a Sunday, so I’m not working… er, I’m not being paid to work, and its rare to find me in my office on a Sunday. Today, the wife is off being showered in honor of her bulging baby belly.
I am doing housework. I vacuumed today, and wiped down the bath and kitchen fixtures, applied a little anti-virus to the door and drawer-pulls, and similar such refinements.
The part that’s got me scratching my head is how we as two reasonable, well-adjusted (mostly) grown-ups allow our home to crumble into such disarray during the week when we’re both home all the time. What goes on in here that yields such an overabundance of shredded cardboard on the stairs? Oh yeah – cats with a racial hatred of wood pulp products (+4 when attacking cardboard and cardboard subspecies, such as paper). Where does the dust on the commode come from? The dust on my desk is out of control; what gives? Is this the detritus of a forced-air heating system? It must be. Is it there every week? Sure is.
Somewhere around three weeks from now, our household will welcome a new member. I’ll try to remember to run the vacuum again before then, sometime when I’m not commuting.
Note to self: maybe write something, since its quiet around here?
Note to others: I’m on the lookout for an AMC Gremlin suitable for restoration. If I have to have a car, it might as well be something that suits me – International Man of Mystery! This will be a pet project for my father-in-law and I, so it’s okay to break the “no car, ever” rule.