I’m Finally Ready to Sell Out

i knew it would come to this. i knew that things wouldn’t just work out, they never do, i knew i would go back to scrolling linkedin for terrible jobs i don’t want so i can send out hundreds of lie-filled resumes and eventually maybe hear back from one shitty company and then trick them into giving me a job that i hate. 

i could stand to be a copywriter. but that’s not a real job. that’s not a real thing that people like me are paid for. that’s the job the boss’ son gets. thats the job that somebody at the company recommends their wild and goofy and clever friend Zack for, and he begrudgingly obliges, because what he really wants to do is write movie scripts, but he needs cash, so he settles for this. and i get nothing. 


i get data analysis. i get shit that will be automated in a few years from now because i don’t have enough dopamine to learn to do anything else. the only thing i’m good at is typing these depressing fucking journals. literary masturbation. 

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