So I changed offices. There was nothing particularly wrong with the old one - it was close by from my home so I could easily walk to work, and I got superb memories of doing WIP there, and it sure saved me from going crazy working from home - but something had to change. Yet somehow I have a hard time remembering why I ended the rental agreement.
Was the office too expensive? Surely not. It was only around 250 a month. I could easily afford it with my salary.
Was it too close to my partner's office? It was close, yes, but it never really stopped me from working as hard as I wanted.
Didn't I get stuff done there? I can't even ask that with a straight face. I mean, I wrote at least four novels and other literary publications there - all in less than a year. I filmed 366 videos. I wrote more than that in articles. I worked my day job from there, five days a week.
So perhaps it's the fact that I did get stuff done there that I wanted to move my office back home, in our library. Maybe I got freaked out by the way my productivity soared there and now I need to practice some good old self sabotage to feel like there's something to strive for, progress towards, again.
Surely that's not me, is it?
Let's just agree that the reasons were financial - that since I'm finally leaving my day job by the end of the year I needed to get my expenses in order in time before I would have no income at all to cover the rent. Or that I wanted to save those 750 bucks that the extra three months would have cost. Or that 250 bucks per month was too much to begin with.
Excuses, excuses. I bet I get sick of my home office in a matter of weeks and start looking for an external office again. Maybe my old office will wait vacantly for me until then?
P.S. Moving is freaking exhausting. I can't believe how much stuff I'd managed to cramp the old place with.