This morning, I arose from my Easter Dinner-fueled hibernation with merely two minutes to spare before I was expected at work. But I did not panic. I simply brushed my teeth and opened my laptop. I work from home—sometimes no more than six feet from my bed. Hell, sometimes in my bed!

Maybe working from home is The American Dream 2.0, but I have to be honest: after a little more than a month-and-a-half, I’ve had enough of being a stay-at-home employee. For the sake of full disclosure, I should describe my circumstances, which are unique for a 24-year-old with a good job; since I recently broke-up with a girlfriend with whom I was living in a posh apartment, I have moved back in with my parents (to avoid several months of pricey double rent payments). So while I am working from home, I am also working FROM MY PARENTS’ HOME. And therein lies the rub.

My mom is funny… and quirky. VERY quirky. Not to mention given to fits of obscenity and utter obnoxiousness. AND she’s a nurse on a rotating shift, so many days she’s at home while I’m working here, or “trying to work here,” I should say.

When my mom is cleaning the kitchen—which is my preferred workspace due to openness, natural lighting, and WIFI signal strength—she listens to her music at concert volume. No joke: concert volume. We’re talking The Bee Gee’s, Earth, Wind & Fire, Rod Stewart, and A LOT of generic salsa music. Our kitchen sounds like a fusion of American Bandstand, a sultry lounge, and the Disney version of a Mexican Barrio. And I can handle all that, even if it’s audible in every other room of the house. But when she’s watching my 10-month-old niece, that’s when she breaks out “Drew’s Famous Sleep-over Party Mix” and “The Chipmunks’ Dance Party Mix.” Now we’re talking screechy covers of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and high-pitched, chipmunk-esque renditions of “I’m Too Sexy” (the latter being disturbing on various levels). I would challenge anyone, save for someone with a hearing disability, to work productively in that environment. It’s like trying to center your Chi at a Hannah Montana concert.

For some reason, the WIFI signal in my house is disabled when the microwave is active. If anyone has insight as to why this is the case, please let me know; with my limited understanding of the technologies at work, I can’t wrap my head around this apparent opposition of “wavy things.” Of course, my productivity is directly tied to the Web; I use an online program to manage my daily tasks and communicate almost exclusively vie email with the other members of my company. And it just so happens that my mom uses the microwave often because she is, in fact, a twenty-first century mom. I think you go see where I’m going with this. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Vice President of Operations, we’re having BLT’s for dinner tonight and Mom likes making the bacon in the microwave. Can we talk through how my Website works another time?”

Of course I’m asked to do random other tasks, merely by virtue of my constant presence. Run to the store. Hold the baby. Get the mail. I wish I were joking, but when my mom’s home, I’m a full-time gopher and a part-time employee. Did I mention I’m 24 with a good job?

And then, even when my mom’s at work, we have the other myriad temptations of being at home. As a 24-year-old guy. Recently singled. Alone. With no one else around. On the Internet full-time. With no access restrictions like those in place at large corporations. And so many possibilities…