I got a big girl job again.
Before you grab your pompoms, you should know this position only requires me to put in approximately 25 hours of actual work per week and pays six-figures, yet I’ve chosen to spend my down time drinking Space Dust and blacking out in Sleeves’ hot tub (more on that later) instead of documenting my sexual exploits and crazy childhood drama. Once again, I am a tiny, insignificant cog in our well-oiled corporate machine. I hate almost every minute of it. Unfortunately, the ability to buy shit I don’t need holds more value than the self-actualized, difference-making life I’d been building.
I sold out.
Sixty seven days, one butt plug, and four double Tito’s later, I’m back.