So I started working again, actually have been since the beginning of July. I'm telecommuting. This means that instead of locking myself in my office all day long and only talking to people via email, phone and IM, I am now locking myself in my apartment all day long, and only talking to people via email, phone and IM. Also I usually have MTV playing in the background in both scenarios. In fact, the only differences are I don't need to shower when I work at home, and I get way more sunlight when I work in the office, as I have windows there, and none at home in my living room.

Sunlight is highly overrated, though.

I'm only supposed to be working one day a week, but of course, it's stretching out to a couple hours a day, every day. I'm sure it's not fair, but what can you do? Shit needs to get done, and I'm the one who has to do it. I think I've got a pretty sweet deal overall; two months off, and job security when I return. I really do have the best bosses ever, I swear.

And yesterday I was informed, that, at long last, I am getting an associate producer to help me out. (This means, of course, that I have to find an associate producer, but that's a whole other entry.) I was so excited I called my former imaginary assistant Amanda immediately on her cell.

She answered, of course, weeping.

"Amanda, what's wrong?"

Between sobs, she answered, "I...hate...my...job."

"What are you talking about? The last time we spoke, you were so excited about it. A fashion website seemed perfect for you."

"Hello? Where have you been? The whole industry crashed? Do you read the papers at all?"

"Oh..."

"Yea, the internet economy was about as real as I am. So now I'm back to being an imaginary assistant again to this total bitch. She runs a security company that manages layoffs - you know, so no one steals anything after they get fired. She's worse than you were."

"How so?"

"Actually, you know what? She's probably about the same as you were, it's just that I didn't know any better then. I hadn't yet tasted the sweet life of web fashion journalism. The parties...the free clothes and perfume samples...the inside track on all the sample sales. It was like the Daily Candy every day!" She sighed dreamily.

"And how long did that job last exactly?"

"A month. But it was the best month of my life."

I snickered.

"Oh you wouldn't understand. You're never happy."

She had me there.

"Listen," said Amanda. "You know of anything good? I call my imaginary assistant agency every day, and they've got nothing for me except for some lame biotech companies and of course, those nasty companies in the financial district. They even suggested I go work in a doctor's office if I didn't want to work in a big company. Like I want to be around icky sick people."

"Lots of rich men down on Wall Street, Amanda. And trust me, none of them are real in the slightest. You might find your dream man."

"Yea, that reminds me - none of these jobs pay well. I'm getting desperate here. I haven't been able to afford a manicure and pedicure in weeks, I had to reduce my minutes on my phone, and I haven't been to the Hamptons once this summer! And what about fall fashion? It's time to start shopping now, and I can't." She took a deep breath. "What if I am no longer fashion forward? What will I do? What if I end up looking like --"

"Don't say it, Amanda," I growled.

"You! I don't want to look like you!"

"OK, enough. Is there any other reason why you called me except to complain?" I asked.

"I didn't call you. You called me."

"Uh yea, that's right." Oh shit, I thought.

"So why did you call?"

"Umm...no reason. Just to say hi, is all."

"You sure?"

"Yup. Just to check in and see how you were doing."

"Oh. Well, also I guess I should tell you I'm straight again. That lesbian thing is sooo thirty seconds ago."

"And a nation can sleep well at night again. We were all so concerned."

"And I might dye my hair red. Red is in this year."

"It is?"

"It isn't? Do you know something I don't know? Oh my god, I'm a mess..."

She started weeping again, so I bid her goodbye gently, and hung up the phone. I thought about the fact that I didn't tell her about the job opening. She sounded really miserable, I had to admit. But I knew what our relationship was like, and I knew how it would turn out. It's a far, far different thing to be humiliated in your own home, than it is to be humiliated in public, and I knew that's what would happen if she came to work in my office. And anyway, I knew she wasn't suffering too much. She still had her cell.

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