Really, I'm the first to moan about working from home in cramped conditions, never leaving the house, having no social life, etc. One of the side effects is that I sometimes imagine the world is made up solely of people who write texts and people who translate them. Often, the writers are the bad guys and the translators are, you guessed it, the good guys.
But stepping outside my own four walls every now and then reassurres me that things aren't all bad. Over the past few days, I've started to count my blessings. I don't have to work in a bank. Or on a building site. I'm not an actor who elicits double-takes every time I walk down the road. I don't have to sit in an overheated metal box on the way to work. I don't have to wear blouses. I'm not a teacher. The odours in my workplace are all my own.
I'm not going through an acrimonious divorce. I'm not in constant pain. I'm not an alcoholic. I'm not a hideous mental and physical wreck who takes it out on people lower down the pecking order.
Instead, I do a creative and imaginative job, learning something new every day. I get to read exciting and interesting things and put those things into my own words. I don't have to put up with people I don't like talking about what they watched on TV last night. I can put the washing on in my lunch break. I can take my lunch break whenever I want. I don't feel I will ever get to a point where I'll be able to say, "My work is absolutely perfect. There is nothing left to learn." In short, I actually rather love my job.
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