According to My Bird, Working Is for Losers

I have the incredible fortune to work from home. It may not pay much, but at least I can safely earn a teensy income from the relative safety of my house.

My work setup is fairly simple. I have a plastic desk (a foldout straight from a crowded Costco aisle) placed against the kitchen counter, with a decent office chair that’s a hand-me-down from my mother’s kinder classroom. My laptop takes center stage, while a decrepit desktop rests on the corner of the desk. The desktop computer is ancient enough that it does not recognize 5GHz wifi networks, but I use it for basic search engine stuff and to play background music while I work.

This cobbled-together work station was created to give me the ultimate focus while I write/edit/proofread. Granted, the fact that I’m so close to the kitchen often spurs me to get up for more cups of coffee than I should, but that’s the only distraction, I swear.

Well, it would be the only distraction, if Froley didn’t seem to disagree with the very concept of work.

Every morning, I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, and wash my face. (By “wash my face,” I mean splash some water on it and then shake it dry like a dog.)

I gather any notebooks or spare sheets of paper I might need for work, boot up my computers, and hunker down for about an hour or two.

Froley’s wake-up time is at 9 am, so at that point, I take a small break to greet my beloved birb with joyous whistles and endearing terms. I remove his polar bear bedtime blanket from his bedtime cage, rush him to his normal cage for his gigantic morning poop, and then let him have free reign of the airspace.

On a good day, Froley uses his out-time to take a second nap on my office chair, on my thigh, or on my desk itself. He’ll fluff up and start beak grinding, letting me type away to my heart’s content.

Unfortunately, more often than not, Froley is not content with merely chillaxing by my side.

No, he must have all attention on him, and anything that gets in the way of that is an abomination.

He bites at my keyboard, determined that my computer will no longer have an Escape key. He demands cuddles, nipping my fingertips or wrists until I stop what I’m doing to give him head scritches. He’ll decide that it’s the perfect time to try shattering glass and start screaming/chirping at the top of his lungs. Or he’ll hop onto my knuckles as I’m carefully trying to edit an article and start masturbating on them.

At times like these, it is impossible to work with Froley around. I have to stop whatever I’m working on, pick him up, and place him (gently) back in his cage.

Froley can’t seem to understand that I need a job to give him seeds.

3 thoughts on “According to My Bird, Working Is for Losers”

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