working from home – bendingtheneedle

So, I have noticed this about myself lately.

I’ll randomly blurt out “fuck you” throughout the day, at nothing in particular.

Like a hiccup, my “fuck yous” arrive without warning.

Most of the time, they happen when I’m alone, but not always, as my wife can attest.

I might be walking from the kitchen to the living room when BAM! – a sharp and sincerely felt “fuck you” burst from my lips.

Sometimes the “fuck yous” happen when driving alone in my car.

These car “fuck yous” aren’t preceded by a driver cutting me off or failing to use a turn signal (e.g., the standard “fuck you” driving scenarios). No, instead, it’s just me driving in peace and quiet when out of nowhere comes a terse and curt “fuck you!”

I’m not afflicted by a sudden onset of Tourette Syndrome, but something’s definitely going on with me. So, I’ve been trying to self-diagnose.

The first step in diagnosing Random Fuck You Syndrome (it’s what I’m calling this) is identifying life changes that might be contributing factors.

Change 1: Being Alone

One thing that’s changed for me is the number of hours I spend alone.

I’ve worked from home for more than 20 years — but recently, working from home has transitioned to working from home alone.

For most of my career, there’s always been another human in the house (for at least part of my workday). But this past year, our younger son moved out, and my wife, who leaves for work at 4:15 in the morning, goes to her mom’s house after work to visit and help with chores.

We have a dog who keeps me company throughout the day, but she’s deaf and, consequently, quiet as a mouse.

So, the number of hours I spend alone during the workday has increased significantly. For long periods, it’s just me, my laptop, the refrigerator’s hum, and my deaf dog snoring.

Being alone is not the sole cause of Randon Fuck You Syndrome, but I think it contributes to it.

Change 2: My TV and Phone

When you work from home alone, your smartphone and television become closer companions to you than they used to be.

I turn my TV on shortly after waking up and listen to the news while going about my morning routine of putting on a pot of coffee, feeding, petting, and talking to my dog (yes, I know she can’t hear me), making the bed, and emptying the dishwasher.

When I’m not absorbing content from work, I’m absorbing it from my smartphone and television. Throughout the day, I’m receiving input constantly – All that input gets stacked in the recesses of my mind, where it sits for hours, without interruption from healthy interactions and conversations with other human beings.

Change 3: Our Turbulent World and the Nature of Content

When the world is a mess, as ours is, having access to information is a double-edged sword. You stay informed, but you worry – a lot.

We have constant access to information about the war in Ukraine, the rise of fascism at home, the climate crisis, inflation, and the looming influence of AI, all contribute to an overwhelming feeling of uncertainty and anxiety.

On top of the pile of the undeniable mess sits a fairly new development (in terms of consequence): the demise of critical thinking and American’s willingness to relinquish their mental and intellectual autonomy to fantastical conspiracy theories and a known crook whose vision for America rests on retribution, revenge, and fascist-ideologies.

I can’t tell you how many interviews I’ve seen recently of Qanon followers who believe JFK is still alive, JFK junior faked his own death, and Donald Trump is a Christ-like figure divinely sent to save America from a cannibalistic cabal of elites.

Donald Trump, (a man credibly charged with stealing top-secret documents, directing a collaborative effort to overturn a free and fair election (and strong-arming state officials to do the same) said, “Don’t believe what you see or hear, believe what I tell you.” And millions of Americans are doing just that.

I stew at the knowledge that these people get a seat at the table and have a say in selecting the next president – that their vote counts the same as the vote from rational individuals who use critical thinking to guide their decisions.

This is a significant change, not just for me (a guy working at home alone), but for our country.

Change 4: Work Burnout

At sixty, what’s required of me at work and where I am philosophically have diverged irreconcilably.

I feel it in my bones and gut every morning I wake up.

There’s a nagging sense of entitlement that at this phase of life, I’ve earned the right to slow down, take my foot off the gas, and smell the roses.

I romanticize about a job that doesn’t follow me home every night. A job that ends when the day ends and doesn’t occupy my mind ceaselessly.

When I look at my workstation, I stress out about the amount of work I have to complete – work that no longer interests me – and the mental energy required to barely push through it.

That agitates the shit out of me.

So, these four changes – an increase in the amount of time being alone, unfettered access to information, the shit-state of our world and America’s growing population of unthinking Trump supporters, and job burnout – are contributing factors to the “Fuck Yous!” building inside my head and Random Fuck You Syndrome (RFYS).

At this phase of life, I have both no fucks to give, yet I’m full of “fuck yous” – it’s a strange dichotomy.

As I see it, the cure is retirement (a year or two off) and voting the current Trump culture into oblivion.

After that, I’ll regain control of my “fuck yous.” Until then, Random Fuck Yous will reign.

His alarm goes off a 6:45 AM.

He looks wearily from his pillow across the room at his desk, where two monitors and a Mac sit framed by a window that overlooks the side yard of his 3 bedroom, one-and-a-half bath cape.

He lays in bed with his dog for another 15 minutes, scratching her behind the ear. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh before rolling over, sitting up, and lowering his feet to the floor.

His 11-year-old Pitbull watches sleepily, yawning and stretching across the center of the bed. He turns to give her one more pat on the head, and her tail thumps the mattress in warm appreciation. Then she lowers her head and closes her eyes. She’ll sleep another hour before heading downstairs to begin her day.

He heads down the staircase from the upstairs bedroom, emptying into the sun-splashed kitchen. It’s one of the things he likes most about the house, but he’s not sure why. He gives this some thought and concludes it’s the practicality of going from a room where sleep still clings to you to a room where the coffee pot awaits. That design makes perfect sense.

“That must be it,” he mutters to himself.

He gets the coffee pot going immediately. He opens the French doors from the kitchen to the cement patio overlooking the yard. The grass is still wet from the morning dew; he walks out, sits on a patio chair, and waits for the coffee to finish brewing.

He starts to rethink why he loves the idea of a staircase connecting the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms, which has nothing to do with coffee and sleep. He thinks the design decision harkens back to simpler days when the kitchen was the hub of family activity. And even though that was long before his time, the idea of it sits well with him.

In another hour or so, he’ll be back upstairs at his computer, looking at emails and preparing for meetings.

He can’t wait for the day when sitting on the patio is not a prelude to work but rather an interlude to a day without plans or schedules.

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