I have been working from home and due to that, mostly in self-quarantine for the last 3.5 years.
I love working from home. I have my office set up exactly the way I like, I have my routine and schedule, and I’ve become very used to working on my own in my quiet, teal-painted office.
Every evening, I happily greet my husband when he comes home from work and I get to spend time with my favorite person and my cat.
We live in NYC and many businesses are having their employees work from home for social distancing and to slow the spread of the virus.
He’s been working from home with me for a week now and plans to continue for at least the next week.
It’s been fine!
I love my husband. I adore him. He is the love of my damn life. I’ve spent the last 9 years loving him more every day.
And I am about to kill him.
He’s sitting in MY office. My beautiful, quiet, teal office. Crunching on chips. Burping. Farting. Asking what’s for lunch. Making weird yawning/scratching noises. Eating my snacks. Tickety-tapping away.
I might die here, long before the coronavirus takes me.
My whole routine is interrupted and I am having a harder time than usual focusing and yet I want to look as busy as possible so he doesn’t think I just fiddle-fart around and watch TV when I’ve been working from home for the last 3.5 years.
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping.
It was a whole hour alone.
But don’t worry, he texted me requests for snacks.
I love my husband. I want him to be healthy. I want ME to be healthy.
I love him. I love him. I love him.
Just remember, if I die here, it’s probably because my head exploded from the distractions.
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