Sistah, please

So over the past three or four weeks the W-2s have been rolling in. I realized I've had a considerable number of jobs this year. At this time last year, I was still at Starbucks. Immediately thereafter I was working for Princess in Alaska. Got fired, bummed around for a few weeks, then got a job at Denali Park Resorts. Then, on to NYC. Bummed around a lot. Did some odd jobs, none of them on the books. Provided a lot of work for the street sweepers. Tried being a shot girl at a strip club in Atlantic City for a weekend. Didn't like that. Came home. Picked up a promotions job at Grizzlies games. Picked up a promotions job at Elvis week. Picked up a marketing gig for AT&T. The only thing I'm still doing is the Grizzlies games. I think I'm going to be delivering Valentine's shit to people. How perfect is that. But it's ok. I realized I don't really want a real job, or I'd have gone out and gotten one. Mostly I just want to make enough to get by until summer. The more money I make when I'm here, the bigger my drinking problem gets, so I might as well stay broke and sober instead of broke and drunk. Being drunk all the time gets old. It's been good that I have such a drive home, it's prevented me from drinking at all, really. But, I think someone should come pick me up so we can have a night out. I sort of need that. I don't really know what this all is supposed to be. I mean, this web site. I wanted to avoid it being an opportunity to ramble endlessly about personal things, and focus more on developing my writing. Yet, here I am rambling. At the same time, some of the best writing I've ever come up with happened somewhere in the middle of lengthy written rabbit trails, so maybe it's not such a bad idea. Except, I was hoping to come up with something more polished. Finished, you know? Readable. Appealing. All of those things. Oh well. Maybe some day. Now, I have to go hawk credit cards at the game.


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