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Slowly going insane

There are plenty of tales about how to make a person believe they're going insane. Filing a millimetre of wood off of the bottom of their chair legs every day, switching the regular and decaf, moving furniture around ever so slightly, shrinking clothes a little bit each week. In fact, there must be a list on the internet somewhere, but I've not looked.

My own personal experience in this field is my commute. In moving to Seattle from Redmond (which was undoubtedly one of my best decisions of late), I now spent anywhere between a thirty minutes to an hour getting to and from work, each way, every day. That time, relaxing as it sometimes may be, is not what I consider to be my own. At first a novelty, then a habit, now a chore, I'm now wondering how much of my mental wellbeing is left behind while sitting in traffic of Lake Washington.

I'm fairly convinced teleworking is never quite going to cut it. Depending on day-to-day responsibilities, it may work for some, but not nearly the majority. I have all the prerequesites in place, and may very well be 'productive' working in isolation in a selfish sense, but it'll be a long time before it fills the need for face-to-face communication.

Why haven't they invented a teleporter yet?