Just A Writer

People don't realize how powerful their words are sometimes, I swear.

During this whole unemployment ordeal I decided to enlist some professionals to help me find a job, any job, so I can stop robbin' old ladies and makin' a dash. And within a few weeks of each other two separate "professionals" informed me that I'm "just a writer" therefore it will be tough to place me anywhere.

Wow. Really? Thanks for straightening that up, because here I thought I was intelligent, professional, talented and an asset to any company. But no, I'm just a writer. An unpublished, mediocre, no-trade-having, unemployable writer.

*whew*

I'm glad that's settled! Now I can send this application into DeVry and get me some REAL marketable skills. Not these uppity degrees and book learnin', no sir, that's not worth the paper it's printed on. Then I'm gonna grab me that $9.25/hr call center job he was tryna shove down my throat, because that will definitely help me pay my rent, phone, internet, gas, electric, two hungry, growing kids and student loans. YUP.

This "writing" thing was clearly a phase and a waste of time. I should have known by the color of my skin that it wasn't going to take me places, right? I know that's what he wanted to say with his "You're just a writer" statement. I wasn't privileged enough to major in the arts. I should have majored in something tangible like math or business administration, right? Fuck my pen, right? $9.25/hr is where it's at, right?

And I have the AUDACITY to expect more. SMH. What was I thinking???

*smooches...giving myself until Sunday w/this pity party*
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and yes, at Smarty's request, the gift bags WILL contain penis. My gift bags always do... #privatejoke