Short commutes are dangerous to my ongoing mental health.

You know how they say that if you can't get to sleep after trying for at least 30 minutes, you should get up and do something else, and that you shouldn't do anything other than sleep in your bed because it encourages sleeplessness if it's not your "100% pure place o'sleep"?

In my previous job I had to commute about 60 minutes round trip once or twice a week (luckily, in reverse traffic). In the "going" portion of the commute, I listened to either Plans, Transatlanticism, Oh! Inverted World, Chutes Too Narrow (the four albums I bothered to put on cassette tape since I don't have a CD player in the car), or my iPod on complete shuffle when I remembered to bring it with me. In the "return" portion, I listened to The Crane Wife and talked to myself about the joyous crises of the day and how I really, really, really needed to find a new job. (And cursed California drivers, of course.) It was therapeutic.

My commute is now 5 minutes each day. When I get home I usually spend the first 2 hours unwinding and talking to myself about the crises du jour/week and how I should've could've would've handled them better. And then I stew for another hour until I find some distraction, which usually ends up being something crafty, a TV series on DVD, a writing project, or a glass (or three) of wine. Or a combination of any/all of those things.

In some cases this is good because I am learning from my mistakes and I am definitely employing those learnings going forward. In most cases this means I never really escape from work.

I need a longer commute. Maybe I should've agreed to that second interview in Mountain View...