I think before giving me a credit card, they should have given me a math test. A series of story problems. “If Maria’s boyfriend is in a folk band but he only smokes pot every other day, what percentage of the rent will he be able to contribute?” Now I thought 50%. But the answer is zero.
Have you ever seen somebody order in this country? That’s when you realize maybe we have too much freedom. “Yeah, quick question about the coffee: is it organic? OK. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I’d like to have a cup of boiling hot water. Boiling. Boiling. With Ice. And I don’t want the ice to get all tiny.”
I’ve never really thought of myself as depressed as much as paralyzed by hope.
I’ve been fired a lot. I prefer to call it just another stop on my Burning Bridges Tour.