Working from my home has really turned out to be a benefit for me. For one thing, since I don’t drive anymore, I don’t have to get jammed onto crowded trains and fight perfectly capable people for the few handicapped-only seats… for another, I’m only steps away from the office and easily accessible. If the fatigue sets in, I can take my cellphone with me into the bedroom and get a bit of a restorative snooze.
Then, there are other benefits.
It was 11 am this morning. Both of my dogs were hinting that they wanted to go outside. Gail was doing laundry, so the LEAST a fella can do is take his girlies out into the yard. So, I got Raven onto her leash, opened the door, and…
How do I put this delicately?
…immediately noticed I was “filling up my diaper.”
There was no urge. There was no “need to go.” I just stood up, walked to the door, bent over to put a chain around a dog’s neck, opened the door, and…
Pooped ‘em… just a bit before my Parkinson’s addled brain realized the horror that was being perpetrated in my underwear and snapped everything shut.
Now THERE’S a benefit of working at home. If something like that happened at WORK, I would have to sit there in my filth, await the next shuttle to the Metro, take the Metro to Union Station, wait for the next MARC train, sit for the 40-minute trip home, have Gail pick me up for the 10 minute ride home… all the while “marinating” in my own “gravy.”
Yes. For the boy with Parkinson’s disease, the federal government’s “work at home” plan is a good deal, indeed.