on the second day she stuffed funeral announcements, read five hundred press clippings about cher, and met a man named otter. The Corporation is wily; it keeps us docile with curious errands.

the arrangement is sinister. i'm tired enough when i arrive that the reptilian part of my head is utterly satisfied with accomplishing negligible things. i perk up on the canada-bound train, read something nice for half an hour, and plan to be the artistic mistress of the universe; by the time i'm back at the apartment, i'm sleepy and fit only for stupid home-things. when the day job is utterly unrelated to what one cares about, it's frightfully easy to forget that anything is exciting. but little brain wants to be engaged all the time -

it would be nice to think that one role is enough, that i could afford to eat if i busted my ass in the field i love. i've accepted the fact that i need to wear another hat, but i seem to have assumed that i'd be more flexible about it. no, apparently i need two perfect jobs.


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