Get Out Of Your Pyjamas Now.

Kill Your Pyjama Rut with Hot Pants

Photo by Kyson Dana on Unsplash

Pyjamas.

I sleep in them. I wake up in them. I was born in them. I will probably die in them. What about you?

The only thing in the world that has been created with thoughtful dexterity and comfort are pyjamas. Creating life on Mars is secondary.

When you work from home, I’m sure you love the idea of working in your pyjamas. It is a privilege, right? Look at the horses around, making laps after laps trying to run to office on time in their perfect formal best. If they don’t get on time, they can’t make hay while the sun shines. Or eat it too.

It is true that pjs do give you the utmost comfort possible. You can lounge in them all day eating California grapes that are perched on tiny decorated toothpicks. Or just couple them with a stinky sweatshirt and laze around with dishevelled hair. The artist look you know!

Or actually work in them and never get out of them.

Never.

Until you feel like a walking pillow cover. Rather, a bolster cover. Until they refuse to come out of you. Until they become synonymous with you or you become synonymous with bolster covers. Until your neighbors refer to you as the bolster cover guy.

‘Hey do you know Matt?’

‘Matt who? Aah, the walking bolster cover? Yes, I know him.’

Or until these flippity things pull you down into a pyjama rut. Yes, a pyjama rut from which you try to waddle and drag yourself out, but they pull you back in. They make you feel sick.

Or until you actually start to feel ill. You have this invincible pain in the 13th vertebrae of your thorax, and another acute discomfort in your gall bladder. Probably from too much ‘gall.’

Or until your pyjamas make you feel immensely drowsy throughout the day. You work from home, but you are actually thinking of getting back to bed. It is the kind of drowsiness I remember getting when I downed six Jagerbombs all at once. (The next day, the newspaper headlines read ‘Kid misses school bus because drunk mom overslept’). That kind of drowsiness.

Or until you end up lounging so much that you miss deadlines. Your editor calls and you sulk. You sulk till you die of shame.

It is then that you need to come out of your pjs and get your own identity.

So, hail ye! Pyjama gods! Let’s pledge to get out of our pyjamas and work in a more glorified version of them — Hot Pants.

Not the ones that you are thinking of.

Hot Pants: Pants ironed and worn while they are still hot.

Tell me: Are you also in a pyjama rut? If yes, tell me how you came out of the rut.

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