It is so fucking scary, being an intake care coordinator, or an advertising analyst, or whatever the fuck else title they can throw at you to collect a W2 and make you feel like you’re doing something with your life when really you’re just getting fucked no foreplay by a job that pays you negative two hundred eighty three dollars a month after fixed expenses.
You used to be brilliant and you’re still brilliant but everything is muddled and rain-soaked and probably feels worse than it is.
But at least you have a job and legs and limbs and time to feed the machine a wrinkled, dry little dollar in exchange for a piece of plastic that’s broken before you even twist the goddamn thing open and they call it a prize-you have to be grateful for a prize!
It is so scary.
22luxe.com 