The past is a foreign country, they don’t commute…

Ok, so I can’t vote here. I do hope that everyone who can went out and voted Obama, thereby making the world a safer place and helping ensure that a country with a big say is not run by people who should not be in charge of handing out the chocolate mice and Kola Kubes at a corner shop.

This morning, I had a brief reminder of what life was like before I started commuting. My office closed at noon today so that everyone had ample opportunity to fulfil their above-mentioned democratic duty. Rather than spend four hours travelling for three hours in the office, I worked from home.

For a start, it was light when I got up. Light! I could see inside my closet.  At no point did I almost fall down stairs because I didn’t want to put a light on and disturb the sleeping husband. In fact, he was up and awake and we had a conversation. Admittedly nothing deep and intellectual, but still a great improvement on the ‘Unh-uh’ that I usually get when dropping off his coffee as I head out the door. I had breakfast. Then, I had coffee while not driving. I did not have to ask someone to move so that I could squeeze onto a middle seat; in fact, I had my choice of prime seating arrangements. Rather decadently, I even swapped seats a time or two, just because I could.

It was like slipping into a parallel life.

This afternoon I had a glimpse into what life would be like if I didn’t workat all.  I met up with Zoesmom and the eponymous child herself for lunch; we got manicures. ZM and I spent the afternoon chatting and catching up, because we have gone from working in adjacent offices to seeing each other about once every month, and that is a far from satisfactory arrangement.

I wandered home for around 5.30pm and went out for dinner with my husband. Mid-week. We had a couple of margaritas and talked: about the election, and work, and Thanksgiving, and Bonfire Night. We planned our anniversary gift to ourselves (new cutlery, anyone got any recommendations?)

All that done, and I still have time to pack for tomorrow’s little jaunt to Charleston. Until Friday, I will be your roving correspondent, musing from foreign sofas or possibly from Starbucks since my hotel charges for internet access. (Doubletree! Oh Doubletree! Do try to catch up.)

Published by


I've run out of books. Again.

4 thoughts on “The past is a foreign country, they don’t commute…”

  1. I’m glad you’ve had such a nice day. I had a lovely time with you this afternoon. We must try to up our average to at least twice a month!

    Hope you have a good trip to Charleston.

  2. Oh, the Charleston Conference! Have fun at that one. Meanwhile, you had a nice little piece of my non-commute work life. See how addictive it can be? Of course, the not working at all would be even more addictive, I’m sure. Too bad one needs money to do things like meeting up with others for lunch and going out for margaritas.

  3. I LOVE working from home (which I mostly do now). It’s so restful and productive and fun. I feel for you – do you really have to commute for four hours a day? That seems unreasonable, although there is the potential there for a lot of good reading time. Still, I hope you have a wonderful trip and look forward to hearing all about it!

  4. ZM – I agree, twice a month would be much better! It’s that pesky work getting in the way.
    Emily – I definitely see the appeal of tele-commuting. Sigh. And independent wealth.
    Litlove – I am glad you get to work from home. Yes, it’s really a four-hour round trip commute, which in fact is not as bad as it sounds. Plenty of reading time is good (but expensive); the downside is that sometimes I wish I could do something else with the time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s