Home Alone

There are many many good things about working from home. Take today, for example. It's pissing it down, it's dark, it's cold. I spent the morning cocooned in my bed, wearing pyjamas, working on my laptop. When the rain stopped I had a leisurely bathe, dressed, strolled up the hill to the Triangle, went to a cafe for lunch, wandered idly round some shops before wandering idly back down the hill. This afternoon, as I have no deadlines, I chatted on the phone, I played with the Ponker, I read about 10 new blogs, I fantasised about the imminent return of Vanesita, and IMed my sister.

Super, you might say, and you'd be right. It truly is a much better way to live. Unfortunately, it has its downsides. For example, on Tuesday I realised that I hadn't left the flat for three days. That evening Milway was at his Christmas bash and it dawned on me that I would be alone and STILL in the flat. Attempting to rectify this, I decided to go late night shopping. Just as the bus arrived to whisk me towards the delights of Bromley, I realised I'd left my wallet. By the time I got in again I decided to give it up as a bad lot. I am now totally ill-equipped to deal with life. I was dozy before, but now I'm even worse - permanently with my mind on some drivelling inner monologue rather than the matter at hand.

Which leads me to my next point. Note how my solution to being alone in the flat was to go shopping. Alone. There was a party I could have gone to, but oh no - I couldn't face it. Six months ago I was someone who hated being alone. Proud as I am of my new-found independence, I am slowly turning into someone who hates being in company. I am losing social skills. I no longer remember how to communicate. Ask me a question and I stare, mute, unsure of what to do. And I've lost sight of what's interesting. After 2 long, crappy years of job misery, I am suddenly leading a whole new, fabulous life, and yet out with friends last night, the most interesting thing I could think to talk about was the fact that I'd just bought some new slippers, and I was mighty pleased with them, but I think my sister might buy me a pair for Christmas as well, but that's ok because you can never have too many pairs of slippers - and my feet get so cold in the flat all day long that they're like iceblocks ha ha ha!

And once I finally crank myself up to speak again, I can't shut up! Blahdeblahdeblah! I haven't heard the sound of my own voice for so long that I become almost hysterical with the joy of it. The inner monologues become outer, and, on reaction with the air, split and multiply at an alarming rate until, before long, I'm weaving in and out of digression after digression, unable to remember where I started or where I'm going or where it all ends.