I need some proper office space. It’s been hell on earth trying to work in the attic today. My husband was working from home too and my 18-year-old son is on a gap year and rather than explore Europe or some other far flung location, he’s chosen to spend his days ransacking my stationary cupboard.
Then there are the girls aged 15 and 12 whose constant demands for food, money and any attention I can give them, are never ending.
The other half says I cannot work away from the house because –
- There will be nobody here to receive parcels.
- We might get burgled.
- Our son could burn down the house.
- The dog will get lonely.
- Chores won’t get done.
Is it just me, but none of those factors seem like a good reason not to look for proper, grown-up office space. And why is it okay for him to disappear to his workplace in South London four days a week?
The husband and I have been winding each other up today. He’s just spent half an hour moaning about the fact that I am paying to do The Journey. ‘The person who is running this course and taking your cash doesn’t have money blocks. Be more like them. It’s easy. Anyway, it sounds like a load of bollocks,’ he scoffed.
‘What if it works? What if I am happier and more able to earn money as a result,’ I said. He didn’t reply. He laughed under his breath and looked at me as if I was mentally retarded. Ha, I’ll show him!
I deserve a proper office.