By Miila Heinonen

After sharing a profession with Peg Bundy (lazy housewife from eighties sitcom Married With Children), I finally got a job - just as I was preparing to pack my bags and leave Finland. I feel like I’ve won the lottery. I get to practice and improve my Finnish skills, I get work experience, and I can practically hear the money roll in. Best of all I don’t have to worry about leaving my boyfriend and Oulu for a while. At least until the end of April, when the trial period is over.  

If it hadn't been for the no-income part of housewifery, I think I'd like it. At least part time. But no, my boyfriend happens to be one of these modern guys who thinks the woman should be earning her own money. It’s only fair I guess: I make him vacuum, clean, and empty the shower drain. So I did it. I have my own little office with computer and a cell phone and a brand new office chair that's a dream to sit in. 

A month ago I was unemployed and fancy free, spending Christmas holiday horizontally on the couch, stuffing my face with snacks, interrupted only by dinner and a nap. We spent a day in London, I rode on a double decker bus, got undies that say "mind the gap", ate fish 'n chips, and saw all kinds of attractions. I even went to the National Gallery. I wasn’t there long though. I’m more of a beer tourist.  

Now, a month later, I only have vague memories of hours on the couch. Getting back to real life was quite a shock. The first week I was in bed early every evening, dead tired, but still woke up ten times during the night, afraid I'd sleep through the alarm.  

It’s tension. I just can’t leave things at the office, a habit I inherited from my dear mother. I wake up every now and then from a dream that something hasn’t been done right at the office. Even when I worked at a grocery store I'd wake up afraid that the register would float over with carrots and shampoo bottles, and that the checkout line would grow and grow and grow. Waking up at 3 o'clock in the morning all sweaty and with a heart beat slightly faster than it should be, I tell myself sweet little lies to calm down.  “Irene, honey, pack your suitcase, you’re going on vacation... you’re on a plane… at the beach… taking a nap…" And I’m sleeping again in no time. 

How on Earth people make time for everything in one day is a mystery to me. An eight hour working day, dinner, the gym, housework, hobbies, a social life, naps, all in 24 hours? I don't do gym or hobbies and even then I’m struggling to keep my head above water. And being as far from an A-person you can get doesn’t make it any easier. Happy as I am to have this job, I’ll never like getting up early in the morning. Heaven to me is early to bed, sleep long, and nap in the afternoon. The koala, my boyfriend calls me. Just ten more minutes, please. 

So I’m slowly but steadily getting used to the working-woman rhythm, managing to do more than the usual bake, cook, clean and shower mittens and socks into the cupboard. I get up at six every morning. I’m even at work half an hour before necessary. Though, mostly I do it to avoid the ten to eight traffic jam. Growing up in a village of 800 inhabitants with only one roundabout to break up the route around the fjord, I’m sure you can understand that even the smallest jam makes me jump up and down and verbally slaughter my fellow drivers.

Now we’re getting a cat. Just when I was starting to get some sleep!

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