Looks like I've finally got a job. In truth, it's more like exploitation, but at least I found it myself. (Sometimes I wonder which will get
me killed first, curiosity or pride.) Having a sense of purpose feels like a welcome change, but by evening my back aches and my clothes stink of cigarette smoke.
Too hyped to sleep, at night I lie awake and think of possible alternatives. Why not abandon this job thing, look for an old, rich husband instead. Later poison him, if necessary...Yet, alas, it cannot be that way. While faking it is not an issue- neither is murder- living off someone else's money for the rest of my life is.
Mr Ego strikes again (though I detest gender distinctions, and stereotypes in general, my ego is most definitely male). So I guess I'll have to shut up and deal with life in its present state. Oh well,
it's not that bad, after all...
Thursday, 8 November 2007
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