It seems like forever since I wrote. Beckett moved, and he didn't tell me where he moved. I didn't even use a computer for the whole time. I've been out of work for a few months. That means I'm living at home with my mother. I didn't think I'd be here again.
I was lucky I saw Beckett at Boston Market. Otherwise I'd probably feel like I had no one to talk to. It's good to write, I think.
I asked Beckett what he did. He works at an ad agency. I asked him if I could maybe get a job with him. He said he'd talk to the mailroom for me.
Thanks, if you read this, Beckett.
I have two goals: get a job and get a girlfriend. Then I'll be happy.
1 comment:
I'm sorry to hear you were laid off from the Pit Stop (isn't that where you worked?) It's hard to be unemployed -- I hope Beckett can get you something at the ad agency.
The picture you chose for your post, Glen, is striking and quite provocative. I'm curious why you selected that image of a doctor examining a voluptuously reclining woman. Does her relative helplessness reflect how you feel vis a vis your mother?
Pardon me if I sound a bit highfalutin. I can get that way.
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