I got a part-time job in self defense. When I was retired without a job I got nothing done at all, if I was home I was sitting right where I’m sitting now. The job gives structure to my week, and doesn’t allow me to endlessly put things off until tomorrow.
I feel like my mind gets a break at work, oddly enough. Instead of trying to decide if redoing the kitchen is worth the money, I concentrate on what I’m doing as if it’s life or death, when in reality I’m packing donuts or icing pastries in the bakery of my local supermarket. It’s much harder work than I expected, on your feet all day, and fast paced so that the work gets done on time. Whatever I might be stressing about in my personal life, or what home improvement I might be debating with myself, is put on hold when I’m at work. And it’s a pleasant thing to look up from your work and notice a customer smile, happy to see that you are working that day. I’ve tried to tell myself that work shouldn’t count as a social life, but in a lot of ways I think it really does.
If only I could work at home at the pace that I work at work. I look to see what needs to packed next, or iced so it can dry while I pack something else, and on and on. Charley once asked me what I do at work ‘to look busy’. I just looked at him and laughed. At home I dither, start one thing and think of something else I need to do, leaving the first thing I started unfinished, and then I decide to do something else entirely. And I’ll drop everything when I hear the ping that tells me someone posted something online. I’ve even been known to walk out in the middle of some chore or another because I decided that getting an ice cream cone sounds like a better idea.
Maybe I just like the dark and quiet of the morning because I can’t see the mess I’ve left behind from the day before, and I still have expectations of all that I’ll accomplish that day. And living alone has it’s advantages in that there are no witnesses, except the dogs. But they don’t care as long as I keep the Milk Bones coming…