Those forced into a near-state of house arrest by The Great Corona Lockdown have enjoyed an extended period of closer contact with at least one other cellmate - a partner, family, maybe roommates. Like most of us, I've enjoyed the inevitable, predictable jokes and stories that result from such situations. The comedy seems to emerge organically from this age-old irony - we are so easily aggravated by the most important people in our lives.
Unfortunately, readers seeking such tales on TOA will need to look elsewhere. I don't think I've made eye contact with anyone I know in a month (editor's note: exaggeration). If most of my fellow inmates are in gen pop, I'm in solitary, and ready to paint a volleyball on my rice cooker.
Lacking as I am of human contact, I've turned to the only logical outlet - well, outlets, where I've plugged in the modem, the router, and my three (!) computers. And I'm pleased to report, it's finally happened, after a half-decade of resistance I awake each morning into my greatest nightmare - I've become a millennial. It would be easy to blame my current dissatisfaction on my metamorphosis - life was so good when I could still focus, you know? But I decided today that it's finally time to get off my own back and find the silver linings in the cloud. I can complain about being a drone, or I can appreciate having wings, right?
