RING. RIIIING.

         When I was typing away at yet another deadline, GG often found herself flickering in and out of existence at the edges of my peripheral vision, trying to write funny notes on the misted bathroom mirror, or otherwise switching bottles and sauces around in the fridge again. 

         But this time, when the door rang, GG just gave me a very purposeful look. There’s someone here. 

         “I know,” I reply, massaging my sore neck a little. “It’s just the delivery guy. He’ll drop off the stuff and I’ll pick it up. No-contact, per usual.”

         We wait a moment.

         Another.

         But there are no retreating footsteps. No dropped package noises. Just more infernal ringing.

         RING. RIIING. RIIIIING.

         More insistent this time. Refusing to back down. 

         I look down at myself, feeling ashamed in my work-from-home outfit. The wrinkled shirt. The slouching posture I’ve gained from staring at a computer screen all day. It never fails to astound me how much I’ve let myself go since dreading the world.

         Well? GG asks me, hovering expectantly in my field of view, aren’t you going to answer it?