being back at work stinks. you know you go away for a week and you expect all the bullshit to just magically dissipate and you’d come back to a brand-new place of employment. a place with no political crap and no fuckwits and everything. but i think that’s just something we tell ourselves to get us back into the office on the monday after vacation.
i’m in serious need of a sugar daddy. a patron of the arts, someone who wants to support a woman who would be perfectly happy writing and writing and writing at home in her underpants while listening to NPR. i mean, really, who wouldn’t want to spend their money on something like that?