THE BUGS

For years, I had this slightly dumb little fantasy of taking my laptop and going to work somewhere unnecessarily picturesque: a park, a café, the edge of a field, whatever.

I would bring a little table or a blanket, do deep work outside, then take photos to show people just how interesting my life was.

If only I could escape meetings for one damn day. Be unreachable. Unavailable. A man with a laptop and the sacred right to do meaningful work somewhere other than at a desk.

I have been working for myself for almost a year now, and at some point, that old fantasy came back to me: wait, I can actually do this now!

So I chose the place I had imagined: a picnic table under the old oak trees, close to the Chassé River.

I had my laptop, a few things to work on, and, because apparently I was really committed to the character, a coffee thermos bought specifically for the occasion.

For a few minutes, it was exactly how I had imagined it. The river, the shade, the coffee, the ridiculous little satisfaction of having managed to manufacture a moment of freedom for myself.

But something became very obvious within the first few minutes.

Mosquitoes love rivers, fuck!

I cannot concentrate with those little flying bastards stabbing my neck and fingers nonstop!

So after an hour of trying, I packed everything up and went back home to live my deeply ordinary, not remotely inspiring, mosquito-free but productive life.

Sometimes, you have to realize that freedom is not really something the office takes away from you.

It is just the FUCKING mosquitoes.