Yay.
Good morning, all. I have been reduced to blogging. Surely you all understand.
A week into my summer vacation and I:
Have not been able to call a single person I'd like to, including but not limited to Charlie, Becca, Stephanie.
(Actually, a day into my summer vacation and I) Have already been pointlessly threatened by my father over something he no longer holds control over and, truthfully, never did. For the sake of a graduation party I was unaware of (a party for myself, in some small capacity and/or stretch of the imagination) and which I attended, the location of which I still remain at, in pajamas too late in the day for anyone to be in them, no matter how silky.
Have applied to four jobs, two of which I'm guaranteed not to get, one of which I would rather die than work there (Strack and VanTil's, among the stale bread smell and ratty hair of the fellow employees who, for whatever personal reason, chose a lifetime of 30 percent discounts on Debbie's snack cakes over some modicum of post-high school education--it's possible I'm a snob).
Have begun working for my stepdad's law office, and thus, have been attacked three times across the knuckles by thin paper edges. Guess what sort of work I've been doing.
Have driven two hours to avoid those two hours (stretched to at least four, no doubt) with the man I have the deep misfortune to call my father. I say he doesn't count.
And now, I have blogged.
I'm perfectly ready to go home now.
--me
A week into my summer vacation and I:
Have not been able to call a single person I'd like to, including but not limited to Charlie, Becca, Stephanie.
(Actually, a day into my summer vacation and I) Have already been pointlessly threatened by my father over something he no longer holds control over and, truthfully, never did. For the sake of a graduation party I was unaware of (a party for myself, in some small capacity and/or stretch of the imagination) and which I attended, the location of which I still remain at, in pajamas too late in the day for anyone to be in them, no matter how silky.
Have applied to four jobs, two of which I'm guaranteed not to get, one of which I would rather die than work there (Strack and VanTil's, among the stale bread smell and ratty hair of the fellow employees who, for whatever personal reason, chose a lifetime of 30 percent discounts on Debbie's snack cakes over some modicum of post-high school education--it's possible I'm a snob).
Have begun working for my stepdad's law office, and thus, have been attacked three times across the knuckles by thin paper edges. Guess what sort of work I've been doing.
Have driven two hours to avoid those two hours (stretched to at least four, no doubt) with the man I have the deep misfortune to call my father. I say he doesn't count.
And now, I have blogged.
I'm perfectly ready to go home now.
--me