i am turning into a machine. not the good kind (sex-machine, soul-machine, dancing-machine, killing-machine,) but the bad kind. my fingers are slowly turning into metal, joints replaced by hindges, fingernails turn to glass. my voice becoming more robotic. from 9 - 5 my voice repeats the phrases “C&D Media,” “may I ask who is calling,” “can I transfer you to their voicemail?” My thought proceses grinding to a halt for you see, dear reader, I have gotten a job.

But no mere office job. No, no, no. I am a “personal assistant” to a “president” of a “PR Firm.” What kind of PR Firm you ask? Why, a fashion PR firm. That’s right, I am currently employed in the fashion business.
It’s worse than it sounds, dear reader, much worse. I thought I could get used to it. It’s been two days and I hope I never become used to it, because I know what that would mean. It’s awful, it makes me sick, I don’t know how long I will last. The pay isnt bad, but I am the one who is paying the most out of it all.

Today I got a call from one of the temp agencies I was with for months and never got a call from. They have a possible position for me. Now that I’m secured in a job, they have work for me! Think of the ironing.

When I come home I yearn to do something stimulating, keep myself from thinking. Fortunately I haven’t been driven to Prime Time tv, but it can’t be far off. So my new schedule is this:

7:30am: wake up,
9:15am: arrive at work,
9:20am - 5:50pm: hate myself and everyone around me
6:00pm: leave office, by far the most exhiliarating moment of my life,
630pm - 7:30pm: watch simpsons
7:35 - midnite: think about how much my day sucks, hate myself and everyone around me

well I gotta run now, ciao!