I yawn awake at the painfully early hour of noon o’clock to the pinging of 1,005 unread emails. A voicemail from my boss leaps to the top of my mountain of notifications: “PLEASE LOG INTO TEAMS NOW!!” I take a deep breath and realize it’s the perfect time to grab a cold brew—on the company card, of course.

At the coffee shop, I join a group of remote employees typing away on their laptops. They inspire me to work on my pressing daily tasks: New York Times games. Fortunately, I expensed my subscription this month as “emotional support software.” I consider checking my work messages while on my laptop, but I hesitate. My company uses Slack, and I understand that as a directive, not a software.

The unbearable stress of Connections has pushed me to take my first break of the day, but certainly not the last. As a WFH (“work from home” or “will fire her”) employee, I prioritize my mental health. My mind is a temple—if the temple laid off every employee.

Out of my never-ending pile of notifications, one catches my eye: a new Spotify playlist. It begins with “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton. Her lyrics convey an understanding of the grind of my job, even if I’m only working twelve to four. I desperately need her inspiration to power through.

After my brief two-hour break, I head home to dive back into work. The jumbled, incorrect spreadsheets whose numbers dictate the future of this company were due three weeks ago. Attempting to cope with the strain, I bring my focus to my favorite job responsibilities: walking around the house without pants on, binging a new show, and writing meal-prep ideas that will never come to fruition.

Before turning to WFH, my boss was worried we’d miss the office’s social festivities. He was totally wrong, though, because I attended a speed-dating event and job fair last week while clocking my $67.00 per hour. My employers love that I’m always working, no matter what I do.

Soon after transitioning to WFH, the five-day workweek turned into a two-day workweek. We call it the “reverse weekend.” The eight-hour workday is a curse from the distant past. Now, we work in five-minute increments and break when our chakras are misaligned.

I do miss a few elements of working in-office while being remote, such as profound conversations with my coworkers in the office kitchen. I long for the human connection of “Hey,” “How’s it going?” and “Can you please stop taking seventeen bathroom breaks a day to avoid work?”

My boss always believed that nothing makes employees productive like being chained to a desk in an office that looks like a hospital. He was wrong, of course, because now my company loyalty is at an all-time high. I’m loyal to all fourteen remote jobs I have.

Speaking of which—my next shift is about to start.