Nine to Forever

Welcome to the dream. Forget your routine. No need to drag yourself to the closet and look for clothes, pack a lunch, rush to make breakfast and brew your coffee. Sleep in – you deserve it. Because you don’t have a commute today – or any day. When you wake up, all you have to put on is that million-dollar smile. Go ahead, it fits you like it should – effortless, inviting and snug. You’re a lucky man. Go look in the mirror – hell, you’ve got the time now. Feel happy. Look happy. You work from home now. You are living the dream.

But then I wake up and the day goes like this: lift each eyelid like two dumbbells. Roll out of bed. Draw a smile – or something like it. Pull over each garment, one brave sleeve at a time. Drag my feet to the bathroom sink. Squeeze the tube of toothpaste between an aching carpal tunnel. And carry cold water from the running faucet to a face that needs a morning revival.

Wipe the last of the dripping water off my face and stare…stare…stare…at the person looking back at me. Most days, the mirror is just an object melted into the background. It’s hardly noticeable, and then I become hardly noticeable. Some days I’ll stare and look deeply, searching for the person I used to be or maybe just wonder how the person looking back at me became so unfamiliar. The act of getting ready becomes mechanical; the act of getting to work becomes intolerable; and then I begin the show when I place my clammy hand on the door, sigh heavily before turning the knob ever so slowly and…walk into the next room of my apartment.

The diet becomes immediately apparent: cut out the commute time to and from work. Cut out the battle of traffic: slow drivers, fast drivers, drivers on your ass, drivers reading papers, drivers texting; the yappers, the honkers, the fingers, the howlers, and my favorite, the ones with their feet perched up outside their window as they glide through traffic beside me.

The conversations about the weekdays were always the same: Oh god! It’s Monday again? I’ve got the Monday blues; Wednesday Humps; can’t wait for Friday; Hallelujah, it’s Friday! Rinse and repeat. Click-clacking away at the keyboard. Obligatory retorts. Yes, sir. No, sir. The grueling tasks of the redundant paperwork that comes in and goes out sometimes gave me a damn near panic attack. Small talk or long conversations about the weather, pop culture, or worse, politics, were painful. The temptation of takeout turned into a battle royale, or the real-life edition of Survivor. Alliances were formed, mutinies were created, and the anxiety of What’s for lunch? became the most daunting task of the day. Every day. Chinese, Japanese, American, Mexican, Italian. Pizza. Pizza. And wait for it – Pizza. Enough with the Pizza!

But I’m home now. The silence creeps up on me. It begins to grow loud enough that I miss the noise: the nagging voices, the redundant conversations, and all the others punching, typing, clicking, chewing, slurping, snacking, burping, coughing, sneezing, farting (yes – farting), the grunts, the mumbles and murmurs, and question after question after question! I miss it all.

Despite the assumption that your home office becomes a nudist colony, the only thing that brings me shame is walking to the office alone. I picture the asshole yelling god knows what, flipping me off as he nearly hits me. I picture the dick swerving to take the parking spot I always park in. I picture the moment of racing to the elevator, hoping not to run into the guy who took my spot. I picture walking into another day at the office.

Instead, I settle into my desk. A desk that, thankfully, faces a window. The obligatory good mornings are absent. Fixating on the walls now replaces the blank faces in the room.

Instead of the drawn-out mumbling about some show you’ve never watched, the upstairs neighbors enact a daily tribal tradition; the constant banging, beating, humming, and howling seem to go on for hours. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. I’m still looking for an excuse to step away. I’ve heard somewhere that people are happiest when they’re at home. I used to think I could just go home to escape the noise. It’s no longer my sanctuary. It’s no longer the place to just get away. I eat here. I sleep here. Now, I work here.

I used to joke around pretending the walls each had names; now I’m worried they don’t like me.