Or rather, borderline maniac. That's me.
After a hard day's work, I returned to a silent home, an absent family, and a feeling somewhere that I would really like a hot cup of tea. After a mind-numbingly slow ride from Churchgate in a second class ladies' compartment (after ages, that), I took one look at the house, and instead of sighing miserably, changed into my tramp clothes and started working.
And as I hit the first key on the keyboard, all my boredom and fatigue just went away. And I had the most startling realisation - I can't stop working!
It's not like I'm too surprised, because having no work makes a grumpy bear out of me. But to actually feel happy having two stories to file for the next day, after filing a gazillion stories in office (and giving up on the remaining ones because I was tired) is surely not normal.
So that's me, people. I'm about to begin my first story already. A hot cuppa will get me started on the next one. Smokin'!
p.s.: Methinks the family should go away more often. The complete silence is actually helping me think.