I finally landed a gig that makes me comfortable enough to begin my apartment search. At this point I managed to snag a contract position at the large ad agency scenario I was envisioning all along. In the end the timing and opportunity worked out. So although I complained, cried and chewed myself out during the process—I still got what I wanted. Figures. Life is your professor, you know that bitch is gonna test you. +10 if you can name who said that off the dome. -50 if you think it’s Drizzy.

I must’ve been through a million interviews. I’m so tired of trying to sell myself.

I’ve put my house hunt towards a studio search just so I can avoid searching for roomie listings, because that is an interview process in itself. I don’t really feel like convincing a bunch of randos that I’m a super clean roomie that’s also cool as fuck. I’m too lazy to go through the entire ordeal. Just fucking pick me, shit. GAH. I actually enjoy living with people, there’s always someone to listen to my dumb anecdotes and witness me trying to heat up frozen breakfast burritos at 3am after I get home drunk. Damn, I miss my BK house/roomies.

AND THEN YOU KNOW WHAT?

After I find a place to live I will probably start paying attention to men again, and then I’ll have to convince one of those mother fuckers that I’m as cool as I appear. I’m exhausted and anxious just thinking about dating…

This year is already one long screening process where I am simply a candidate…

JUST PICK ME, WORLD. GAH.