The Existential Dread of Working from Home

My delightful red desk, warped after too many pools of condensation, no longer entices me. The bulletin board and stacks of neatly organized files no longer spark inspiration. My pens gather dust as my notebook patiently waits for me to open it and become productive again.

I cannot. All I can do is stare out the window, brain fried and unable to disengage from thoughts of my bed. My chore…

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