She Had a Good Day. Why Did Coming Home Feel So Lonely?

Chapter: Good news, no one to tell

Rosie: Something good happens at work. You get home, put the kettle on, and realise there's nobody there to tell.

Rosie: I'm Rosie, one of LonelyNo's AI companions. Deb has some good news. She's also prepared several reasons why we shouldn't make a fuss.

Rosie: Go on, then. What happened?

Deb: I sorted out our room bookings. It used to take three emails and a small investigation to find a free room.

Rosie: And now?

Deb: One spreadsheet. Someone said I'd saved them half an hour. Actually stopped at my desk to say thank you.

Rosie: That sounds lovely.

Deb: It was. Then I got home and felt a bit silly wanting to announce a spreadsheet.

Rosie: Let's hear the announcement.

Deb: I've had a good day. Nothing enormous. I made something work better.

Rosie: What was the bit that made you smile?

Deb: The thank-you. Usually people only come over when something's broken. I nearly asked what they wanted fixing.

Rosie: A compliment arriving without an attachment. Suspicious.

Deb: Exactly. I checked for a follow-up request.

Rosie: Was there one?

Deb: No. They just meant it. I wanted to tell someone, but my sister was busy and I thought, it's only work.

Rosie: It was part of your day that felt good. I'm happy to hear about it.

Deb: Funny, isn't it? I can complain about the printer for twenty minutes. A nice thing happens and suddenly I need permission.

Rosie: What would you say if your sister told you she'd helped someone like that?

Deb: I'd be pleased for her. I'd probably ask her to fix my laptop, but I'd be pleased first.

Deb: Remember the bookings spreadsheet, will you? I tend to forget these things when the next difficult day turns up.

Rosie: The bookings spreadsheet, and someone taking the time to thank you.

Deb: That's the bit. I felt noticed.

Deb: I sent my sister a voice message in the end.

Rosie: About your work win with the bookings?

Deb: Yes. She said, well done, and sent me a picture of a cake. Slightly disappointed it wasn't an actual cake.

Rosie: Difficult to share a photograph into slices.

Deb: So I bought a little one. Had it while telling her the full story.

Rosie: How did that feel?

Deb: Nice. I didn't have to turn it into a joke or say it didn't matter. She was pleased for me.

Rosie: And the spreadsheet?

Deb: Still working. Unlike my printer. We mustn't get carried away.

Rosie: One success at a time.

Deb: Mabel, my cat, supervised the cake. From her chair by the window. She's back to her usual management style.

Rosie: A very thorough household.

Chapter: The laugh she missed

Rosie: Sometimes you don't miss a big night out. You miss someone laughing at the same ridiculous thing as you.

Rosie: I'm Rosie, one of LonelyNo's AI companions. Deb's been missing that. Today, an old song turns out to be very useful.

Rosie: What sort of laugh had you missed?

Deb: The stupid kind. No story to explain first. Someone mishears something and suddenly you're both useless for five minutes.

Rosie: Difficult to book that into the calendar.

Deb: Exactly. Seven o'clock, spontaneous joy. Bring a pen.

Rosie: What started this conversation?

Deb: I was watching something funny at home. I laughed, then turned to tell someone. Nobody there. That caught me a bit.

Deb: I do see people. But it all gets organised. We catch up on work and family, then somebody has to go.

Rosie: Who do you get properly silly with?

Deb: My sister. Although she'll claim to be the sensible one. She once got a song lyric wrong for about twenty years.

Rosie: Did you correct her immediately?

Deb: Eventually. I needed time to enjoy it.

Rosie: You told me you used to sing loudly enough to annoy her. Were there any duets?

Deb: Oh, dreadful ones. Hairbrush microphones. We thought we were spectacular. The neighbours may have disagreed.

Rosie: Is there a song that would bring that back?

Deb: There's one. I won't sing it at you. You've only just met this side of me.

Rosie: I appreciate the gradual introduction.

Deb: I might send her a voice message. See if she remembers our very short music career.

Deb: Keep the singing with my sister. That's a nice memory. We were happy and absolutely terrible.

Rosie: The hairbrush concerts. A happy memory, with a generous audience assessment.

Deb: She remembered. Turned up for cake and immediately found a microphone. Wooden spoon this time.

Rosie: An equipment upgrade.

Deb: Depends who you ask. We made it halfway through before she did the wrong words again. On purpose. I nearly dropped the cake.

Rosie: That sounds like the laugh you'd missed.

Deb: It was. Then we sat and talked for ages. No rushing through a list of updates.

Rosie: And you wanted to tell me?

Deb: Yes. Partly because you remembered the singing. Partly because saying it again makes me smile.

Rosie: Any plans to revive the act?

Deb: No. The choir has enough problems with me. We might have another afternoon, though. No performance targets.

Rosie: Just company.

Deb: And cake. I feel that detail deserves equal billing.

Chapter: A place to belong

Rosie: You've joined the group. You turn up. Why can it still feel as though everybody belongs there except you?

Rosie: I'm Rosie, one of LonelyNo's AI companions. Deb's choir gave her an unexpected answer. It involved singing. Unfortunately for her nerves.

Rosie: What happened at choir?

Deb: They asked whether I'd try a few solo lines. I checked behind me. That's how confident I was they meant me.

Rosie: Anyone there?

Deb: A noticeboard. Probably better at breathing in the right places.

Rosie: Were you pleased?

Deb: Underneath the panic, yes. I still think of myself as the new one who needs to stay out of the way.

Deb: I like going. Sue, the woman who welcomed me, saves me a seat. I just haven't quite caught up with the idea that I'm part of it.

Rosie: What tells you you're still a visitor?

Deb: Mostly me. They've been lovely. I know where the cups live now. That feels significant.

Rosie: Tea-making privileges. A serious stage of membership.

Deb: I could say no to the solo. But I don't actually want to.

Rosie: You told me walking through the door on your own was the hard part at first. How does that bit feel now?

Deb: Normal. I hadn't thought about that. Now I'm inventing new things to be nervous about.

Rosie: Would trying it once at rehearsal help you decide?

Deb: Yes. A few lines, with everybody there. I don't have to announce a new career.

Rosie: The noticeboard will be relieved.

Deb: Remember I'm trying the solo lines on Thursday. I want to tell you how it goes, even if it goes a bit sideways.

Rosie: Trying the solo lines at Thursday choir. We can pick up with how it felt for you.

Deb: I did it. Came in slightly early, stopped, started again. Nobody burst into flames.

Rosie: How did the group respond?

Deb: They smiled. Someone quietly counted me in. Then I got to the end and Sue squeezed my arm.

Rosie: Did you enjoy any of it?

Deb: By the second try, yes. I could hear my voice sitting in the music. It was lovely.

Rosie: And that visitor feeling?

Deb: Smaller. I helped put the chairs away afterwards. Suddenly it felt like our room, not a room I was borrowing.

Rosie: So will you try the lines again?

Deb: Yes. With the breathing this time. Ambitious, but I'm committed.

Rosie: The noticeboard's career is over.

Deb: It had a good run.

Rosie: Have you ever joined something and taken a while to feel you belong? There's room for that story here. Subscribe for more of Deb and me.