I have a new case against working from home.
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I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it’s been pretty hot lately. After what I often described as the windiest and longest winter ever (unverified), England has gone from coats in May to Scorched Earth by July.
And whilst yes, it’s beautiful, it puts everyone in a better mood and it can give you a tan, there is a side effect: My brain has melted.
Ironically when my brain is at peak performance I’d say my “brain’s on fire”. Clearly there is an optimal level of heat, and this isn’t it.
I spend my days waiting for that injection of inspiration, when everything clicks and makes sense. As each call passes and the thermostat ticks over 30, I find myself slipping into delirium. Every question is a threat, every statement is a challenge to overcome.
Am I done? Is this what literal burnout feels like? There is no reprieve as this lens bleeds from work into personal.
Am I done with life too?
I landed in an air conditioned room. There was a gentle hum of people with Wimbledon silently on in the background. I opened up my laptop and worked through a few messages, joined a call, said something positive and asked some inquisitive questions.
Maybe I’m not done.
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My evenings spent in The Toaster (aka my apartment) are now dedicated to finding air conditioned spaces to fit around my day. I feel the sweat leaving my body and dripping into my eyes as I scroll.
Just 14 more hours until I’m in that air conditioned room.
If only I had a normal job with an office to go to, maybe life would be a lot simpler and a little less dramatic.
Stoirm
