Daddy Got The Job, Kids

They hired me.

Can you believe it? Miscreant and scurrilous dog that I am, it is difficult to believe anybody would hire me to do anything. I just keep fooling them.

So I'm taking another whack at copywriting. And don't give me that "they will hire anybody" bullshit. I put a lot of work into this application, I demonstrated my talent and they hired me. They are not going to hire anybody that embarrasses them. My job is to make their clients happy.

I won't be getting rich any time soon; I have to write a lot and make my bones before the pay increases. So I'll be concentrating on volume, which I have no problem doing. I can write and write and write. I mean, I enjoy between 3 and 4 days off a week - ample time to get this thing up and running. I'd rather spend that time drinking whiskey and watching mob movies, but this is the corner I have painted myself into. So be it.

There is potential to make respectable bucks. I have the talent, and when I get enough experience, and learn the ins and outs of the game, I can make a decent wage. I am supremely motivated by the need for survival and respect, and the overwhelming drive to quit my fucking job and never work another menial job again.

Christ, man - I "semi-retired" in 2016, which in hindsight was a terrible mistake, but what the fuck, I was desperate to get a little piece of my life back after 40 years of miserable full-time employment.  On top of taking a sizable reduction in social security checks, I have worked three miserable jobs over the last 7 years - jobs a fucking monkey could do. A goddamn part-time clerk in a thrift store, a part-time "box office associate" in a theatre, and a part-time permit tech for the city. My pay ranged from 7 cents an hour to a top pay of 18 cents an hour. Teenagers laughed at me.

I'm looking for a little dignity. I am looking for a professional job worthy of respect. I am looking to work from home so I can avoid other humans. I am looking to make use of whatever limited talent I have, rather than piercing my heart with a samurai sword working brainless fucking jobs.

I am condemned to work eternally. My gravestone will read "He fucked up. He just fucked up."

Given that sad and soul-crushing fact, I am trying to make my life and Carol's life better. We deserve to worry less.

I'm trying.

I'm trying.