Finding a place to work

This post is guaranteed to win me the hatred of non-freelance working people everywhere. Sorry. Those of you who work in an office may wish to just skip this post all together. I won’t mind.

There are three times a year when I wish I worked in an office. The first is when the temperature outside goes above 90 degrees (that would be 32.2 degrees Celsius for my lovely Commonwealth readers). The second is when I have a lot of printing to do. When I worked in an office printing out my own work gave me an illicit thrill. Now it’s my own printer I wear out, which is decidedly less thrilling. The third is when the city is doing roadwork outside my house.

Jackhammers make for a cranky fucking copyeditor. At seven in the morning, the only place I could escape was the coffeehouse. This was a most excellent choice, if I do say so myself. It was quiet and peaceful, and there were coffee and pastries. I got a lot of work done. That is, until the ladies came in for a spot of tea after mass.

Nothing brings down a happy caffeinated copyediting mood like a conversation about how using federal funds for abortions is a direct blow to the separation of church and state. Excuse me? Using federal funds for abortion is a legal decision because abortion is legal (for the moment) in the United States. Whether or not you choose to have an abortion is a personal decision often guided by religion. And that, dear readers, is what I see as the separation of church and state.

And so I’d like to sing the praises of the public library. It’s climate-controlled, full of books, and if anyone starts talking you can sic the vicious librarians on them.

Where do you get your shit done?


4 responses to “Finding a place to work

  1. When did it become acceptable to have these types of conversations in public? I’ve noticed it more and more lately, or perhaps it’s being one of two liberals in a business dominated by conservatives, but it’s gotten out of hand. I only wish I had some vicious librarians I could bring to work with me. Alas, I’m fortunate to have some fangs of my own…

    I get my shit done an hour at a time on a bumpy commuter train. The silver lining to my having to work in an office is my Pavlovian response to the train. Notebook, pen, write. And this week, I’ve managed to write “The End”. The first of many, but what a relief to write it once.

  2. Well, it used to be that I did all my work in bed, on my laptop. But over the last year or so, I started writing long hand and took my show on the road. Last Saturday I went from coffee shop to park to library to pub (for lunch, with notebook) and back to bed. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I did write 5500 words that day, so you know . . . whatever, wherever.

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