So, here I am, in 2026, all this post-this and post-that shit plus recovery, it’s all hard, I find myself in a familiar predicament:
I need a job.
It’s something I need but what I want is money. I have new expenses plus old bills and a future to fund and I find I haven’t enough money for it all.
This wouldn’t be a big problem for anyone else, but for me, it’s a conundrum of face-twisting emotions. Because I don’t actually want a job. Do you how shitty jobs for kids my age are? Everything is customer service and fluorescent lighting and noise and spit and despair and burnout. Everything is something that makes me want to die or kill someone or hurt myself or hurt someone else. Everything hurts to someone like me. And that’s why I don’t want a job. I don’t want to go back to all that. I’ll die if I go back.
But I still need money. That’s the conundrum: too weak to live, too weak to die.