The "Working From Home" Diaries

[hooplala]

DAY 212


In the beginning, people almost always said "I couldn't do that, I would never get anything accomplished", meaning that they could not work from home.  This, of course, tells you everything you need to know about that person.  Well, perhaps not everything.  It doesn't tell you what color their pubic hair is: their eyebrows do that.  Where was I?  Right, people seem to believe if given the chance to slack off indefinitely, they will.  Makes sense, though... nature is inherently lazy.  You don't see rivers running uphill or bubbles shaped like cubes, do you?  Laziness is the Wu Wei.

I got the work done just fine, thank you very much; still do, mostly.  It's just porn, so there isn't much to it.  It's sort of embarrassing to call it "work", actually, though I suppose I do have to sit in a chair and move muscles now and then, that's close to the definition of work isn't it?

The work isn't the problem.  This house is.  You never notice the presence until you spend most of your waking hours here.  Sleeping hours too.  The house knows things about me.  It knows the color of my pubic hair, when I had pubic hair.  Long story.  It knows other things though too... it knows all the filthy things I do when I'm not working, which is becoming more and more often.  Or is it?  The work seems to get done... and yet I find myself spending more and more time googling the word "google".  I don't think that word means anything.  Why is that frightening?

When you work from home, nobody can hear you scream.  Except the mail lady... if you time it properly. 

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

"Google" means this guy.

[Telarus]

Nice to hear from you Hoops.

[Anna Mae Bollocks]

It HAS been awhile. Too long. 

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Hoopla! Hoops is back! Happy dance!

Also, you ain't shitting about the house. It even knows how to make a sound just like the basement door just slammed. The one that leads to outside.