Time Is Slipping Away

Rob Brezney hits one outta the park for me and my fellow fish!

Here are a few of the improvements I expect you to be enjoying by the end of October: a new, more practical treaty with your evil twin or nemesis; good reasons to eliminate superfluous middlemen and middlewomen who claim you can't live without them; a knack for avoiding other people's hells; the ability to adopt an enlightened version of tunnel vision and call on the power of having a one-track mind; and an enhanced grasp of the mysterious workings of money and the marketplace, which could ultimately lead to some financial magic.

A bit o'inspiration that I need right now. Fibro is really bad, the pain just won't stop. I'm on the fence about actually applying for disability and I ain't kidding this time. My Medicaid card showed up in the mail, which is an answer to How-Am-I-Going-To-Pay-My-Doctors question. Let the friggin' state take care of me, I've been working like a damn dog since I was 16 anyway. Well, actually 11, but I started off the books taking care of cats and walking my neighbor's dogs. This whole cubicle idea sucks and I'm not looking forward to going back to it. The day I got my working papers was the beginning of the rat race hell and you can keep it. I'm sick of it. Totally and completely.

I'm turning a point in my life and I don't think I can go back. The pain is only making this decision all the more obvious. Corporate America can truly kiss my ass. They're evil, backstabbing, snake-skin shedders with nothing better to do than count their dollars at the top while they subtract from the little people such as myself on the bottom. That old bag Helmsley was right: only the little people DO pay taxes. Well, fuck you very much. I'm sick, tired, and in screaming pain. This is not what I envisioned my life on the verge of 36 as being: having nothing and clinging to crumbs while the baby boomers get everything. Fuck that.

I applied again at IMG, since I belong there after getting dicked around last April, but I'll bet any amount of money they don't remember me. I chopped off most of my hair, so I don't even look the same. His Name We Abuse has hired their third assistant in one year (and I believed I was the problem?

The next woman I work for will be myself. Mark my words. My brain is already starting to turn that way. Just you wait, kiddies...