reminiscing on my saturdays that used to be filled with slinging pints while hearing my regulars outlandish stories and now they’re spent slinging pressors for hours trying to keep a ventilated patient alive long enough to identify if they have family waiting to hear from them
“But she IS dead…(laughter)…she was a regular person. Just write ‘em a check. $11,000. She was 26 anyway. She had limited value.”
You can’t reform this.
everyone’s always like “if i could tell highschool me anything, i’d say life gets better” bro if i went back in time i’d tell that girl don’t bother. we have insurmountable debt, crippling anxiety, a broken brain, and we can’t even eat cheese.