I love my children. I love my children. Ilovemychildrenanddon’treallywanttokillthem.

Ahem.

So the thing about my home office is that I used to share it with my husband. When we first moved into this house a few years ago, we packed the room to the gills with our stuff—his desk on that wall, mine on this one, and bookshelves and boxes galore everywhere else. I enjoyed sharing with him (I am rather fond of the guy, after all, and he makes an ideal officemate because he’s quiet and tidy but also fun to be around), but we really didn’t have enough space. And so this summer, we rearranged some other things in the house and my husband moved his office upstairs.

The good news is that now he has enough room for all of his stuff, and I have enough room for all of my stuff.

The bad news is that all of the new-found extra space in my office is rapidly being filled up with child detritus.
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Although I enjoy hanging around with my family and friends, I am, by nature, a rather solitary person. Loneliness is a common freelancer’s lament—long days in the home office, all alone, can start to feel like a lifetime in a cave—but for the most part I relish the quiet.

But I got to thinking that a dog would be awesome, because I’m here all the time, and it would give me some companionship during the day and the kids would be delighted to have a pet again (we haven’t had a dog since they were very small), and it all seemed like such a good idea. So the husband and I did our research and drove out to a rescue in the country and agreed to foster a particularly timid dog for two weeks. In two weeks we would see if he would come out of his shell and maybe be a good fit for our family.

Within three hours of getting him home, he bolted through the slats in the gate. That was four days ago, and the good news is that the dog is fine; he’s lounging around our neighborhood and when he’s not somewhere we can see him, the neighbors are calling to report he’s in their yards eating their cat food. The bad news is that no human can get within 10 feet of him.
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So, remember when I was agonizing over portable wireless, and whether or not I really needed it, and perhaps even wondering if I would ever learn how to take a real vacation where I, you know, stop working.

Honestly, I was still on the fence. My husband was researching campgrounds that offer wireless internet. I was still thinking that $60/month was a little unnecessary, deductible business expense or not.

And then it happened. I read about the new MiFi portable Hot Spot. Now—to be fair—this is really no different for my uses than getting a wireless card for my laptop. It does exactly the same thing. Except that it also allows for up to five users to get online at a time, which suddenly made it seem more reasonable. Because both my husband and I could use it. And the kids, even. It’s for the family while I work, really.

Also? It is extremely shiny. Ahem.
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I’ve been doing a lot of baking recently. And while I don’t intend it to be a form of self-torture, it really kind of is, because I’m on my first serious diet in… well, ever. So I’m baking, but not eating. And I’ll pull a couple of loaves of bread out of the oven and think, “Okay, now I’m done for a while.” But then a few hours later I’ll find myself staring at a new recipe and thinking, “Well… I could just go ahead and whip this one up, too, and throw it in the freezer! For later! For when I don’t have time to bake!”

The thing is, I don’t have time to bake now. Because I’m working on something, and I should be working, not baking.

Here’s something I believe without reservation: There is no such thing as writer’s block. I don’t believe that it exists. I have never not been able to write; often what I write is complete crap, but I write it. I push through. Later I go back and weed through the crap and make it into something better. But it’s not like I can’t write. On the other hand… after I reach a certain number of words that make me want to stab myself in the eyes repeatedly, I know it’s time to start baking.
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All publicity is good publicity. All publicity is good publicity. All publicity is good publicity. If I keep saying it, maybe eventually I’ll believe it. Right? All publicity is good publicity….

A few weeks ago, I did a small segment with a local radio station, and was pleased with the results. I felt the piece represented me well, and it brought me some extra traffic, and no one I knew in real life heard the interview. Heh. (That may not seem like a perk, but to me it totally was.)

Shortly after the radio thing, I was then contacted by our local NBC affiliate to ask if I’d mind being interviewed for the news. This happened on a day when I had a sick kid at home and a million things going on, and I really wanted to say no… but I knew it was an opportunity, so I said yes.
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Wow. Y’all are very, very kind. When writing mylast post, I full expected folks to sympathize a bit, maybe, but agree that I’d been careless. The way everyone rushed to assure me that I was being too hard on myself warmed the cockles of my heart.

Even though I still disagree with you.

See, I happen to think it’s impossible to both rectify a mistake and guard against committing it again unless you’re able to take responsibility for your part in things. And while it’s very clear to me that the other party in this arrangement failed to fulfill her obligation, I maintain what I said at the beginning of this: I erred in assuming I could trust someone with whom I didn’t already have a tested business relationship.
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My glass is often not only half-empty, my tea is growing tepid, dammit. Which is to say, I am sometimes not all that good at finding the bright side of things. But today let’s pretend I’m madly spinning this into one of those “learning opportunities” I hear so much about. Yes! It’s a good thing that I was a moron, because you’re about to learn from my stupid mistake.

Sigh.

As I would encourage any freelancer to do, my work at this point is spread amongst nearly a dozen different projects. Failure at one is hardly a catastrophe; there are other contracts, different work, etc. Amongst this field of commitments, though, are the two websites I own, myself. And those sites are my bread and butter; aside from the income they generate, they bear my name and are, arguably, a huge part of my brand.

And—plain and simple—I screwed up.
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So, the other day I was (once again) complaining about how my desk runneth over and I’m always working in the evenings because of all the busy-work that needs to be done but seems to take over my days, somehow—emails, going through and sorting mail, mailing other stuff out, doing research for projects—and my husband listened to me rant and nodded and murmured and finally put his hands over mine and said, “Listen. It’s time you hired someone to help you out for a few hours a week so that we can stop having this conversation all the time.”

And I burst into hysterical laughter because I’m a solopreneur! I work alone! No one can do what I do! And—hey, could I really do that? Have someone come help me? How would that work? Would I need to get dressed?
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I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but I’ve been a little whiny, lately.

(Just a little. Okay, a lot. But, um, you forgive me, because you’re nice that way.)

I mean, nothing’s wrong, and even the small annoyances are just that—small—but I haven’t exactly been an endless well of contentment and gratitude all the time. And it can become very, very easy, when you have a home office, to retreat further and further into your own head. Sure, I’m out and about with the kids after school, but my career and days are mostly solitary. Which can often result in an overblown sense of my own importance. Heh.
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Freelancing deja vu: The feeling that you have mismanaged your multiple contracts in exactly this way, before.

Ugh.

Um, hi! Do you remember how once I wrote this pretty great post (if I do say so myself) about how at a certain point, one really has to sit down and be realistic about how much work you can reasonably handle? Remember that? And remember how I was becoming overwhelmed and was piously vowing to do better and choose wisely and not put myself into a situation where I was burning myself out simply because I lacked the foresight to make a sensible decision, already?

Yeah. That was a really good idea.
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