Would You Kill Me If...

Since I am about to quit my job and feeling particularly destructive, I feel like I should come clean...

I work for a spammer.

Before you all troop down and spam my blog to pieces, let the record show that I am--truly, honestly, bleeding at the bottom of my heart--sorry for all the people that I have spammed in my previous jaunt (sorry Karen) and the executives we are spamming now (we only spam the big-wigs!)

Although I don't own the finger that presses the send button, I do own the voice that follows up the people who are interested in our services.

Yes, we have a product and it's real. At least that I can be somewhat proud of, because the product is pretty good.

So I am just a spammer by association, a meek lemming hovering in the sidelines.

That small fact is the only thing that allows me to sleep at night, though lately I have been sleeping much too often...way too often to warrant a mental alert in my pysch radar.

My other job...well, my other job has me on a non-disclosure agreement, so I can't really talk about that lest they fly over the Atlantic and drag me to the local poh-OR-simply sue my ass until there is nothing left except...um, let's not talk about that.

Anyway, for someone who is about to get the rug pulled under her, I am feeling particularly happy. I didn't get as much money as I wanted, but I was able to buy the necessary equipment that I do need.

The funny part is, according to Hollywood standards, I am doing things right: work odd jobs. Quit often. Be a cheapskate.

Or in my case: Stay away from Starbucks. Close your eyes when you pass by the shoe section at the mall--in fact, avoid the shoe section and shoe stores in general. Same goes for shops that carry pretty XS clothes. Wake up on time so you can stop taking the taxi to wherever you need to go in order to make that meeting. Be happy with one burger, and for God's sake, stop it with the food!

Three months teaching english and five months of this--not bad, I guess. Eight months is a pretty long time for me to be away from my real job, which is writing.

I think it's time for me to put in that the necessary eight hours a day again that I need to write my stuff. It is, after all, WORK.