oy.

[merrily]

Minutes after I put up the "get out of Dodge" post, my roommate arrived home and breezed into my room. "You should apply for this," she said, dropping a Workopolis ad in my lap for the sweetest of all the sweet jobs I could think of. "Your boss is an ass. And you could totally do this."

(She knows my boss is an ass because my boss was her boss too, until yesterday, when she quit.)

So, I have. And I could do it, even though I'm a bit fuzzy on what publicists actually do, besides go to a lot of parties and, since this is the Canadian publishing industry, soak publicity materials in lemon oil. (Okay, so that was a long time ago. But they did! For a book called "Bitter Sweet Lemons & Love"! Which flopped!)

Anyway, I'm now feeling slightly panicky. I was hoping for a long, protracted stay of complaining and scheming, and now I may just, y'know, end up with a much happier life right away. I feel a little rushed. And like I'm being a big wuss.

Comments

[human-loser.livejournal.com]

Nah man, if you have an early ticket out of Asswipe-ville, you take it!