One Hundred Hours of Solitude

Salsa coma.

I work from home, which means I have a lot of…freedom [shudder]. Horrible, limitless, malaise-inducing freedom. For instance, my current outfit consists of boxer briefs and slippers, I just ate a bunch of salsa straight from the jar, and in about five minutes I’m going to lie face-down on my bed as a reward for writing this. All kidding aside, I will say that working from home does have its perks. I mean, the break room is the size of my apartment! Also, I can eat unlimited quantities of salsa, guilt-free, which is a nice change of pace for – oh, who am I kidding?! I hate freedom! It sucks! How I long for the halcyon days of Orwellian office oppression (c-c-c-combo!). Back when procrastination was a punishable offense, and coffee was used as a chemical motivator, and I actually had to wear pants! Sweet, sweet tyranny! Where have ye gone, mine ornery horn’ed muse? Why, I can remember how I wasn’t even allowed to go on Facebook! Can you imagine?! No Facebook! Actually, that reminds me… [opens browser, checks Facebook, closes browser, reflexively opens browser, checks Facebook again, closes browser]. What was I talking about? Cats? Well, Wife and I have this cat, named Cat, and let me tell you, he is one feisty feline!

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