On commuting

Ah, the wondrous joy of commuting to work.

Getting up oh-so-early, taking a crowded train filled with arrogant misogynists with briefcases, falling asleep and drooling on the person next to you, and stumbling into the office.

In the summer, it’s actually not too bad. It’s easier to get up in the morning. The trains are not so full (because everybody are on holiday, the smug bastards). Nobody whacks you on the leg with their umbrella to get on the train before you. The office is empty when you arrive.

My eternal problem, however, is falling asleep. I can’t help it. I suppose there is something about the sound and movement of the train. And the problem about falling asleep is that you have to wake up twice. I am something of an early bird, but who actually likes to wake up? The first time is bad enough, but at least you can do the zombie thing and head for the shower without really waking up until halfway into shampooing. When you wake up for the second time, you are surrounded by people. They have all seen you sleep. And you have no idea if you snored, drooled or did any other horrible bodily things. And then you must fight your way up the escalators, stand in queue for coffee, and start work. With no shower or time to wake up slowly and nicely.

I really, really want to work from home.