I have a long list of things I want to tell you. I meant to say something about Christmas. I meant to tell you it’s okay if life is hard right now and that sometimes Christmas makes us sad. I also wanted to tell you about the girl I interviewed to be my assistant who told me she was “super attractive” and then explained her employment gap as “a spiritual journey.”
I also need to share some additional sex advice that involves using the line: “My vagina is like Motel 6. It’ll always leave the light on for you.”
I tested this and it works.
But I haven’t. Because I’ve been too busy adulting. I’ve been on conference calls and I’ve been getting professional licenses and I’ve been talking to people about KPIs and ROIs and drinking wine in my car at 11AM while pretending to look for a flash drive.
I’ve watched other people stop blogging when the going got tough and I always thought “That will never be me! I am devoted! I am an internet ninja! I have 9,832 notes in my phone full of embarrassing bullshit that people need to know about!”
And then I got a job working at a startup.
My wedding engagement, back injury, and various nervous breakdowns didn’t wreak as much havoc as this new employment has. But I suppose it’s all supposed to be worth it. And I get money for doing it. And money buys tootsie rolls and the new Adele album, which I still haven’t downloaded because I spend all my time listening to audiobooks on how to create the next Google.
It’s a weird balance, trying to keep one foot in the writer world and the other foot in the MUST CONTRIBUTE TO SOCIETY AND PAY TAXES world. And I don’t even know what that means, because I spend all my time on the couch, avoiding society, and I’m the one who set up all the tax information for my new employer and I didn’t know what I was doing so I probably won’t be paying taxes anyway.
Not knowing what I’m doing is basically my job description. But I have a lot of super cute blazers from Banana Republic and I wash my hair twice as often as I used to. Which isn’t really saying much.
I miss the internets. I feel terrible for how many unanswered e-mails I have. I took two weeks to send back edits on an article that I don’t even remember writing in the first place because it was back in that zen-crusted time of unemployment when all I worried about was how many different mismatched sock combinations I could come up with.
Please don’t quit me. I’ll be back soon. I haven’t even told you some of the worst things I’ve done. Is that intriguing? Or do I sound desperate? Do I need to make a sex tape? I can make a sex tape. I’ve seen plenty of them involving Nu Bay Nude Girls already, so maybe I should give it a go.
That’s a joke. And not funny because of feminism and personal trauma.
Except it’s a little funny.
Or maybe I’m drunk right now. I’m probably drunk right now. There’s like an 89.7% chance that I’m drunk right now. Or bad at math.
Has YOUR life been overwhelming lately? Are you drunk right now? Can I see your sex tape?
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