I used to work in a cubicle, until 2003, when I quit the corporate scene. Although I worked with some very nice people, I had never been particularly happy with the job I had, and after a while the unhappiness started to multiply. One morning between 5:15 and 6AM, after a particularly horrible day the day before, Ann and I decided I should quit. I figured I could get freelance writing work from some people I knew, and I did. Every day, the cats and I would spend the day in my little home office, and we had a very agreeable life.
Ann works in the health insurance industry, and last year she got a new job, which has her working at home. We've always had one of those marriages with a lot of personal space in it, but now we were going to be together all day, every day. This was a little bit concerning. Our place isn't very big, but we figured it out. Now she's downstairs all day (with the cats--we have different ones now and they prefer her company to mine) and I'm upstairs in the office, when I'm not on the radio, or doing something else that gets me out of the house. I have the luxury of being able to take my laptop and write anywhere. Because of the medical privacy laws, she has to be hard-wired to her company's computer system.
Working at home is full of potential distractions---doing the laundry, stuff like that. Ann does a great job of ignoring them. Me, not so much. But since procrastination is a critical part of my creative process, it's OK.
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