Being in a line of work that can manage it without logistical nightmares, I'm making the move to freelancing. I admit, it was a bit forced; I've been working full-time at a publishing company on a six-month contract, and it just expired (and the company isn't renewing any contracts, no matter what). I suppose I could have looked harder for a job, but it occurred to me that freelancing might give me time to manage the household—God knows my husband can't do that when he's working 50-60 hrs a week—and do some extracurricular activities on top of the money-making part (the freelance work).
It's day four. I have a laundry list of things to do, and I've tried to cross at least one thing off the list each day. So far so good. I've cleaned house, called landscaping contractors, gotten my car's oil changed, and cooked dinner.
I haven't slept in, I haven't watched TV, and I've only done a little web surfing (the same amount I used to do on lunch break, and strictly news articles, nothing "fun"). I "work" from 9 am to 5 pm, with a short lunch when I get hungry.
Dozer doesn't seem particularly concerned about me being home all the time. He sleeps most of the day, usually in the same room where I am (probably because I'm the Grand Master of the Fan, thereby guaranteeing a cool and pleasant temperature where ever I sit). When I change rooms to do something else, he trails along amiably; when I go into the kitchen, he rushes to the back door in the hopes that we will go out and play. (Frankly, I'm in no mood to be outside when the temperature is almost 80 degrees out there by 7 am, so poor Dozer's hopes are inevitably dashed.)
I haven't figured out yet if writing in my blog counts as "fun" or "work."