I think the varnish is okay. I’m studying my Dutch pour, the purple and pink and blue one. The purples almost always dominate. My most recent pour was a scream of purple and red and orange and yellow. The design was lovely, but I disliked the colors.
We made a run to the Japanese dollar store before the hail came raining down. I made lasagna, broccoli, and burnt garlic bread for dinner. We watched Superbad, a centerstage for some of the most successful comedians I know of, and I almost screamed when I saw Michael Cera and Jonah Hill, because if there are two comedians I couldn’t love more, it’s them.
Still admittedly disgruntled about the idea of ever returning to the office. Nothing has been set in stone-they don’t plan to revisit until July- but I had a sinking feeling that a fully remote option won’t be one. Which I think is stupid. Organizations sometimes forget, it seems, that their people make the money, and when their people are disgruntled, angry, bitter, annoyed, inconvenienced, or unhappy, they’ll show up with the fakest smiles and act out in their own ways. Cutting into, as organizations purport to care so much about, the bottom line.
So the estimated 30-60% of the workforce surveyed who’d rather quit than be forced into the office may or may not quit. But they most certainly will feel some type of way about going into the office. And in feeling that type of way ensues an interesting dynamic. And, as the organizational psychologist would call it, counterproductive work behaviors. Absenteeism. Sabotage. Item theft. Time theft. Passive aggressiveness.
Organizations think they can cheery smile fake optimism their way into employees minds. They do it for the culture, the collaboration, the cooler talks. But in being so woefully tone deaf, organizations lose. They lose money. They lose morale. If remote work was an experiment, I’d like to see the impact of returning to work. The amount and type of talent lost. The overt costs incurred due to increased turnover, the unaccounted costs of employee bitterness and lost productivity. The rise in reputation (and coveted ness) of highly flexible companies. The dip in reputation of old-school-narrow-minded companies hurling people back in.
I will most likely begin my passive job hunt tomorrow. I have already messaged a recruiter. For the time being, I’ll spend time scouring listings for fully remote companies and fully remote positions. I will apply as a I see fit. I’ll be a bit choosy, because I technically have some time. I have until July, when they officially decide, and then I have until the actual decision, and even if I do scrape by in the office for a few days a week, I’ll spend the other few days eyeing other jobs. I adamantly refuse to go into the office in any capacity for the long term. And while I’m quiet smiles and isolated irritation, I’ll be doing this whole silly dance all over again. The job hunt. I thought I was done for at least one year. I have, at the moment, a decent, easy job. I know it won’t be so easy when I have to commute. I bitterly despise commutes.
It’s raining outside again. A lighter pour this time. Now a flash of lightning. I’m on the couch. My vegetables fall short. My room feels empty: it’s still missing something. Some things. Missing sturdy furniture. Missing maybe another shelf or maybe an ottoman or a basket. I don’t know. But I wish I could fill it up with warmth so I didn’t feel so anxious as the weekend inched nearer.
I think my dream job would be a writer. But it’s no easy profession. And I dislike monetizing hobbies. But if I could just write all day, I would be so happy. I really would. I’d read and write and draw all day.
I’d live by the mountains in a small cabin, the nearest neighbor miles away. There’d be a lake, and trees, and it’d be so quiet. Devoid of people. Devoid of dogs. Devoid of din and loud music and construction. It would be nothing but nature and peace and quiet. It would be the absolute dream, either that or the countryside.
My parents said they had lived in the mountains, but those were real mountains. Mountains with lions. I’d want to live in relative proximity to civilization, a Wal Mart, I said, and I’d be happy. But that is really the dream, and I’m young and naive enough to achieve it. I hope. Maybe. One day,