So I finally got fired last Thursday and man, is that some kind of relief even though I am probably going to be living at The Bridge next month. But that's ok because I had to ride the bus again last month when my car got towed the same day I got suspended for three days without pay and I had to go to the hood to get it back and I spent some quality time with this bum who clued me in on the drug deal going down across the street in this parking garage downtown. It was a pretty fucking awesome day actually, even though the bus ride cost me $200.
Today was my first official day of unemployment because I decided Friday didn't count even though I did stuff like register for unemployment benefits, again, and get the paper work to hold off paying student loans, bastards, and freak out a little bit completely that I have absolutely no money, and apply for some random ass job in Korea (Korea? Sure, why not?) on Monster. (You may admire my coping skills.) So since today was a Monday that I didn't have a job on, The Foreigner bought me some blueberry pancakes and I joyfully ate them while wearing my tiara. The waitress asked if it was my birthday. I looked at her and said puzzledly, "No...?" And he lent me some DVDs, one of which makes me a criminal so I guess it's true that there is indeed a slippery slope and I have been sliding down it for over a year now. He did warn me he was a bad man so I guess I'll do the time accordingly. They probably won't let me blog in prison. Y'all probably thought I was dead already anyway.
I'm sorry about all the total abandonment, but having the life sucked out of me in not even close to a good way with that job left me absolutely barren of anything interesting to say and unable to produce anything worthwhile. The Foreigner agreed with me when I said that I was more interesting when I didn't have a job. Amen. I still think saving the world is a good idea, but it is not fun. It puts a whole new spin on that old saw we all used to say in advertising, "We're not curing cancer, folks." No shit. The people who are curing cancer don't have time to look at Married To The Sea and win Addy awards. For the love of God, THEY ARE CURING CANCER. THEY DON'T HAVE TIME TO FUCK AROUND. I enjoy fucking around. That should have been my first clue. I did not enjoy feeling dead inside doing a boring job that made me want to choke the life out of people, revive them, and choke them again just to make sure they knew it was me doing the choking. Oh yeah, my rage was turned to 11 pretty much all the time there. Every time I see that Abilify commercial and they list extreme irritability as a sign of bipolar mania, I want to high five my TV and yell, "BOY, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT!" The best part of my day was hanging out in the hallway with a couple of the janitors when I was clocking out. Those guys are good people and I will miss them. I never wanted to kill any of them and they seemed happier than most of the doctors.
The rest of them can suck my left one.
So, to sum up, my advice to the newly fired is to call your buddy before you even get out of the parking lot, then call Daddy and cry because you are never too old to do that, do whatever it takes to keep from panicking so you can get some sleep because Dad is right, the sun's going to come up tomorrow no matter what. Take the weekend to reflect. Then have some fucking blueberry pancakes, and take a fucking nap, man.
You can answer that Korean email tomorrow. It's not like you've got plans.
