So yesterday was my first real day of work (which I define as getting paid to be someplace for a specific period of time) in a long, long time. I've been here in the Middle of Nowhere for nearly 15 years now, and the last time I had a "job" was when I lived in Ohio. (I do a tiny bit of freelance graphic design, which is real work, but I set my own hours for that.)
I've helped out at a local garden center for the past two summers, bartering my labor for their plants. This year, thanks to Rocky Raccoon, I'm on the books and covered by Worker's Compensation, in case one of Rocky's cousins shows up. This year I'll be doing sales as well as production, getting me out of my comfort zone a bit.
It's a part-time, temporary gig and the working conditions couldn't be more beautiful – a sea of flowers and plants in front of me and a river behind me. It's a great "office" and the work is fun for someone who doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. Or her t-shirt, face, cap, etc. And, um, that would be me.
I was pretty tired yesterday when I got home. I didn't stay up for Mad Men, but will be able to watch it online today, maybe. We have a pretty full day scheduled – workout, banking, driving back to the "city" to deliver our old car title and to pick up some phone doodads – but I guess this is what most working people do, right? This little job will, hopefully, make me use my at-home time more efficiently.
Maybe my husband will learn to cook. And maybe pigs will fly. Heh.