My work at home friends are laughing at me

Almost two weeks into this (a-hem) sabbatical, and I was crawling the walls yesterday. You know how this is, checking your emails at least every 30 minutes, taking your cordless phone with you to the bathroom, hovering by the front windows to spy the first gray hair of your postal worker, finally, being able to tell the difference between the engine roar of the FedEx, UPS, DHL, and the overnight FedEx trucks as they accelerate up the hill past your house. I can hear the chirp of the phone in the kitchen of the lady downstairs.

I get dressed, have breakfast, drink a second cup of coffee, then assess my list of projects to manage for the day. Decide which can be done while listening to very loud music, which can be done while drinking beer, (or combined), which are punishments and which are rewards, and which can be blown off. After telling my pal that I'm at a loss living without a sense of urgency, she suggested doing some of the fun stuff first as punishment.

She is a wise-ass, and I just couldn't force myself to do it. I scoured the bathroom, moved wall-units to vacuum, and then watched a marathon of "Mythbusters". However, I truly am at the point where I cannot watch any more television. Help me, I can't even read.

No secrets that this is a mid-life career crisis. I love all these articles about the new workplace, the no-office office, the tele-commute, the online hookup to home office, the laptop/blackberry wireless universe, be your own Human resource. Cool. I'm down.

Now what? Where's the money? I can do almost anything. Do I need an agent? (enter sabbatical insights here) Oh, it's so clear to me now, here I go...

One of the downsides of being a Renaissance Woman in training is that it's just so hard to choose.

It's easier to say what I don't want to do, but that sounds way too much like sniveling and whining to me, along with the chorus of "You should feel lucky that you can do (skill) and take any opening there is, you---you---poser!"

Annie Lamott is the earthly saint still living that I burn a candle to frequently. And she says that she had to write, because otherwise she was unemployable. If only I had been such a hold-out, but no. When surveying the lush and verdant lay of the Land of Work, the trail that seduces me immediately is the triple-diamond-rated, angels fear to hike, Writer's Life. The one I've been flirting with all my life, but still run from like a 6th grader at the Junior High dance.
Sort of how the thing I want to do the most with my life is a punishment, and so I do the stupid tasks instead; I clean the bathroom instead of paint the landscape. The perfection-thing. So stupid, and the tasks will never ever be done, because like the Golden Gate bridge, once the fresh paint-job is done, the crew just starts over on the side they started.

So to spin a finer point on this, I surveyed my laughing friends for some insider secrets of the work-at-home life, what is the Wisdom of the Home Worker, the Tao of the Desk, how the F do you do this? What leap of mindset is necessary, and how many times did you blow it before succeeding?

"Well-----" they each begin, and I can hear the creak of them leaning back in their at-home desk chair, "first you have to have a cell phone, so you can take work calls while you're driving, at your kid's school parking lot, or on your back porch with your laptop."

Check---cell phone.

"You already have a computer and all the accoutrements (my word) to do business, get some cards printed with all your info, but first decide what you're going to do. What are you going to do?"

Shit. There's that again. "Hey, that's why I'm calling you in the middle of your at-home workday, I need answers! Give me some love here, my friend, you know me, what looks good to you? Be the JOB PSYCHIC, like I was for you!"

It just cannot be a coincidence that they each seem to get an important email at this point, and suggest that maybe I should take a few more days to relax and maybe get loaded or something.
Then they laugh and hang up.

And how come it takes certain people so damn long to post on their blog, anyway??? It's not like they're working, and have anything else to do? Forget it, I already got the mail, no severance check yet. Maybe the reason the Writer's Life is not in my cards is because one of my friends certainly would have driven or flown to my house and banged my head on the wall for me by now. Or any minute now. I better go look outside.