Home Vs. Work

I feel like I work too hard at work and not hard enough at home.

1st Example: At work I've been told by a patron that I scan stuff so quickly that she wouldn't want to see me with a gun. Compliment? You bet. Especially since I try to present myself as terrifying with a gun.

2nd Example: I sorted boxes so quickly today that I was told by our delivery guy that he might have to call me laser beam. Compliment? Perhaps. I don't have many nicknames. Frankly, I have pretty much zero nicknames, and laser beam wouldn't be a horrible nickname, but it was nice of him to point out that I'm fast at my job.

I know fast doesn't always mean well done, but everyone here makes mistakes and I don't tend to make extra mistakes if I go fast or slow (I've spent enough years here to know). And I usually only have one speed at work when there is a lot of stuff piled up. So I work too hard at work, and I don't do anything at home.

1st Example: No one has given me a nickname at home. I think Chewie called me Hitler the other day because I wouldn't let her climb the new curtains but I could be mistaken. And I wouldn't consider Hitler a nickname.

2nd Example: I've never been able to say: "There is not one single dirty dish in this house". It seems no matter how much cleaning I do, there is always more to do. This conundrum leads to less completion of chores and more morose contemplation and brooding. I'm not saying my house is a complete mess, it just that nothing ever gets completely done there. I think I live in some awkward vortex which insures that anything I try to complete at home will never be finished. If I take things to work, I'm more likely to complete them, but I usually have to work when I'm at work. So my house continues to be a location of much disappointment and floundering.