If you’ve never sat naked on your bed talking to your boss on the phone, I don’t recommend it. It’s just weird.

I woke up this morning to the sound of my neighbor shoveling his driveway. Unlike last time I heard the shoveling, I didn’t think of writing and masturbation. Instead, in my semi-sleeping state I thought ‘fuck, it’s snowing?’

I rolled over and tried to pretend that I was dreaming. But “Sympathy for the Devil” was going through my head accompanying the scrape of my neighbor’s shovel. I got up and paced a bit, trying to decide if I was gonna be a wuss or gonna brave the elements.

Of course, I took the wuss route.

Before I sent the glorious WFH e-mail, I called Al, the cutest girl on earth™, to find out what her plans were. She was braving it, but encouraged me to stay home. You don’t have to tell me that twice.

Moments after I sent the WFH e-mail, my phone was ringing. It was my boss. We chatted for a bit and he told me about my bonus. Which sprung the deja vu, which hit him first.
“It was a year ago that you had accident,” he said. “I remember you telling me you’d use the bonus to pay your truck.”
“Yep,” I said. “But this time I’m being smart and staying home.”
“Good for you,” he said.

And then I just tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible because, well, I was naked.