It’s hard when you’re a writer and you work from home.
I mean, it’s nice in some ways — you don’t have to bathe regularly if you don’t want to, you can work in a ponytail and sweatpants, you can just grab a Diet Pepsi from your own damn fridge four times per day instead of having to pay 65 cents a pop to the vending machine, you never have to poop in a public bathroom with the chance of one of your coworkers hearing you, and you don’t have to be intimately involved in any sort of office politics.
On the other hand, you’re alone. All alone. There’s no one to stick their head into your office to ask if you want to grab some lunch, no one to bump into in the hallway and chat with about your weekend, no one to stop you to say, “Hey — I love those shoes you’re wearing,” no one to roll your eyes at when told that the entire office will soon be going on a day-long off-site retreat to perform “team-building exercises” and “reconstitute organizational trust.” No one. Just you.
Sometimes it’s nice.
Sometimes it’s terribly lonely.
But you know what? Lonely no more. Because I now have a new officemate: