That's life

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

So I miss everyone. And everyone thinks it's lame when I mention that I miss them. So I try to not mention that I miss them, and focus on the lack of a job, prospects, or a decent salary...get chastised by younger sister for being depressing, and then miss them more.

No one from high school is the same. Everyone's changed just a fraction of an amount to make them never want to look at the school again. So they won't go to reunions until 20 years from now, and I won't even make the guest list because I never graduated from that first school. I had to move. Glorious, mal-adjusted, New York, whose high schoolers can't stand Sinatra on the intercom crooning about their place in the world. Who hates Sinatra??

On the bright side, I started writing my book.

And I'm staring at paintings of dancers, and motorcycles, and old cars with couples too cool to care, and I realize that I can't get there without this book. And on the way there it'll be some ludicrous job that won't pay nearly enough, and that's life. But you know what? On the way to that boring ass job, I'll be floating 9 feet off the ground in an air balloon, and those reports will be telling me that I've won the lottery, and that inevitably evil copy machine will be my arch nemesis, and Oh Yes. I will be victorious.