I'm sure you've seen them. Poor, pathetic, incarcerated zoo animals, pacing back and forth in their cages, or gnawing on the bars, or chewing their own hair out. Self-destructive behavior. Many zoologists claim it is due to boredom and frustration at being locked up.

I know how they feel.

I, too, feel trapped. Incarcerated. Locked up. My freedom is non-existent. I am shackled to this desk, without even anyone to chat to during the day. The only conversations I have are completely work-related, and it's usually me telling someone what they did wrong, because all we have are freelancers because the staff is slowly dwindling down to nothing because this is the worst company to work for, ever.

And so, in order to escape this frustrating, demoralizing, depressing existence, I hide out in the ladies' room (well, I did, until it got so disgusting in there that I actually try to avoid it now – the ceiling is leaking worse than ever, the toilets overflow, and the general upkeep is unpleasant). Sometimes I go for elevator rides. Or I go downstairs and buy unhealthy foods and then lament about my health and body image: I know chocolates are not good for my figure or my complexion, and yet I eat them anyway. Or, most self-destructive of all, I buy cigarettes and go outside to smoke them, knowing full well that cancer runs in my family, just so I'm away from my desk for 10 minutes.

Maya Angelou knows why the caged bird sings.

I know why zoo animals freak out.