Recipes always list insanely optimistic cooking times for chicken, don't they? "Roast for 20 minutes at 425." And then take it out and put it right back in for at least 25 more minutes. And I don't know how to type a degree sign, and I'm not going to bother to look that up. You're smart people, you'll read that as 425 degrees.
Working from home, 100% of the time, has given me more time to think about housekeeping and its relative importance and just how much time is reasonable to spend on cleaning and cooking and making things generally pleasant and livable. I have mixed feelings about housekeeping. On the one hand, it's relentless and repetitive and it's never done, no matter what. Even if the house is perfect, someone is going to need to eat something, or shower, or sleep in a bed, or change their clothes at some time in the very near future, and then it won't be perfect anymore; there will be one more thing out of order; one more thing to clean.
On the other hand, I can't even pretend that it's not rewarding, because it is. Something is dirty, and I apply some effort, and then it's clean. The result is visible, immediate, and quite satisfying. When everything else is utter chaos, I know that I can at least whip the house into shape, and then something will be firmly under my control. Temporarily under control, of course (refer to previous paragraph) but still under control.
Things are going to change, though, and very soon. After this week, I'll no longer be working exclusively from home. I loved my job, but it's feast or famine for contractors, with a strong bias toward famine. I haven't worked full-time for years, but it's time to put on some real clothes and get out of the house. If I leave it alone, maybe it will clean itself.
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