The day I got offered my job in PA I cried the entire 12 hour Greyhound ride home to Detroit. I could not stop no matter what I tried -- I knew it was the right thing for me, but I knew I was closing a chapter I wasn't ready (didn't want to be ready) to leave.
“Nah, the woman I interviewed with stressed ‘storytelling’ as the main job point and ‘lady, lemme tell ya, I tell stories like a drunk fisherman trying to impress a busty waitress’ didn’t feel like the appropriate way to say ‘yes, I’m great at that’”
“I’m not scared of jail, that’s my retirement plan. Jail or a mental institution, either way I’ll be braiding hair and doing crafts and it’ll be free.”
Me, to the dog who has an open wound from fucking with the cat: When you get punched, just walk away. No need to get punched twice. That’s solid life advice, Gen.