..fuck a bunch of work..
I work all the time now. I work 52 hours a week. It's lame. I never see my friends. I have one day off a week. I wear clothes from Express, a shirt and tie, and I carry a BlackBerry PDA and a Nokia smartphone. I feel like I'm living the song "The Logic of Crocodiles" by Everytime I Die. Oh well. I'm under evaluation for management. I have 30 days to show them what I can do and if it goes well I'll be a manager. Which means more pay and responsibility. For some reason my boss asked for the schedule to be made a month in advance so if a show comes up and it's like two weeks notice, like is usually the case, I'm screwed.
Everyone read Cargo magazine. Well not everyone, just dudes and Rachel W. Go check that shit out. It will save your life.
Hmmm that's about it. Nothing new and exciting.
Trying to exorcise all the ghosts from my past. It's rough but I'm doing it. Staying skinny. Looking cute.
My next commission check is going to be fucking sweet. I can't wait.
Oh, peace.
Everyone read Cargo magazine. Well not everyone, just dudes and Rachel W. Go check that shit out. It will save your life.
Hmmm that's about it. Nothing new and exciting.
Trying to exorcise all the ghosts from my past. It's rough but I'm doing it. Staying skinny. Looking cute.
My next commission check is going to be fucking sweet. I can't wait.
Oh, peace.