On a scale of one to Muriel, I’m terrible. I’m no neurologist, but I suspect my mouth is connected directly to my brainstem. It often runs way ahead of my crippled cerebellum and by the time my two long-suffering brain cells arrive on the scene, the valves controlling the floodgates of consequence have been smashed to tiny bits.
My burial in the nether regions of the office is starting to feel normal. The solitude is helpful in moderating my more self-destructive impulses when dealing with management. I have more time to Think About What I Have Done and it gives me the opportunity to spend quality time bonding with the rat that lives in my hard-hat.
The stimulus deprivation hallucinations are fun, too.
the other side of the mountain 
too much solitude is not good for one; I’ve been re-watching Ryan Reynolds; 2010 movie ‘Buried’ and while that is an extreme metaphor it does stress — appropriate word — the need for company —
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That is not a fun movie. There is a certain freedom in acceptance, while those like Dylan Thomas see it as a sworn duty to struggle. I do agree with you about the need for connection, so I’ve set a trap to capture any vagrant colleagues that get lost and wander into the dungeon by accident.
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hahaha; good on you; connection is most important —
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I have a mental of those little braincells scurrying up (inexplicably in white lab coats), dropping to their knees and clutching their tiny little hands to their heads and wailing in horror (yes, they have hands. If you have Floodgates of Consequence (TM) then they can have hands) while watching a 1200 kPa 24″ stream of dark grey consequence hurtle off into the distance…
Thank you for that image! It made me smile, even if the thought of you languishing in a whitewashed brick cell several meters below ground with Remy the Second isn’t great.
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Remy II sends his regards. It’s odd, but I always pictured them in hazmat suits.
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