F*CK OFF

We come into this world soiling ourselves, and we rest under that same shitty soil once the lights go out for good... When you see me, do not ask, “What do you do for a living?” I exist in my mortal shell for the time being—nothing more, nothing less. Careers come and go. Money is earned, money is spent. Love is gained, and love is lost. Once was young, now is old. Get my drift.

No one cares what you do for a living. No one gives a flying fuck how your day was. And if you beg to differ, I suggest you take a hard, long look at yourself in the mirror and ask if you are wrong. You could tell me I’m right, you could tell me I’m wrong—it makes no difference to me. There is no right, there is no wrong. There is only yourself standing in between.

What is “right” to you may be wrong to others, and vice versa. Large corporations set trends by hiring younger staff, claiming it’s the right move—under the presumption they’ll be cheaper to hire, faster to train, and yield more results than their seasoned, mature competition applying for the same positions. I say the mature applicant has more to lose and needs the job. I say he or she is willing to accept the same salary, if not less, and put in double the work to keep that job. Hence, neither right nor wrong exists.

Enough about work—before I fall into this notepad and stab myself in the eye with my pen. Fuck off.