I started working from coffeeshops recently. It breaks up the tedium of working from the Oak Lawn apartment, and reminds a lot of my days studying for the bar exam.
I started working from coffeeshops recently. It breaks up the tedium of working from the Oak Lawn apartment, and reminds a lot of my days studying for the bar exam.
We signed a lease for an apartment in downtown Dallas last week. After a year of being back in Texas, it is already time for a change.
Oak Lawn is special as one of the biggest gayborhoods in the country. However, proximity to gay bars and friends is not enough anymore. Living in Oak Lawn and working from home was great when I was 25, living a resort-style building, with a job that was good but not too demanding. But lawyering from a gloomy bedroom office is not the tea.
I am a week into my membership at the local Equinox gym, and it added some unexpectedly refreshing structure to my daily routine.
Equinox requires advanced scheduling for both solo workouts and classes, providing me with a solid deadline either to end work and leave for the gym, or a strict bed time (in the case of morning workouts).
Being forced to leave my apartment for an appointment also helps me organize my day, because I cannot allow work to sprawl into the late hours of the evening.
My work from home desk looks a little different in Dallas — I figured since I stare at a screen for 10+ hours a day, I might as well get some exercise while doing it.
I rigged a DYI bike desk and decided to decorate the wall a little bit…
I briefly started ordering fresh-cut flowers a few months ago — I’m working from home so I finally have time to enjoy them, right?
The past month of working from was less disruptive and far more mundane than I expected.
I used to work from home full-time at Thomson Reuters, so I am used to the early morning dog walks and days spent in front of the monitor. The time that I save commuting is mostly lost to an increased number of webinars and emails, but the fridge access is worth it.
It is 5:15 a.m., and I am typically one of the first people at the café. (It is the first stop on the morning dog walk.)
Aside from the normal collection of doctors and nurses, there is a strange, short man standing by the half-and-half. He’s mumbling and shaking.
I look over to the barista, who is glaring at the man, who is apparently high.