This must come as a surprise, I know
I've clearly camouflaged my feelings in a cleverly obtuse, yet well written way. I've put on a brave face, put my best foot forward. Smiled in adversary and fallen on my sword. And yet... still...
I hate my fucking life.
I HATE my fucking life.
I hate my FUCKING life.
HATE. With a capital "H".
And "F". Capital "F", as in "FUCKING".
'LIFE"... whatever that may have once been.
"HATE. FUCKING. LIFE."
***********
That's probably a bit too harsh.
There are positives, God knows.
I love the boyfriend more than he can comprehend.
And the dogs too.
And most of my family.
Eh.... "most" is probably too generous... let's say "half"?
That's all well and good, but sadly, it isn't enough.
Not enough to get through the last stretch of life, and let's be honest, that's where we're at.
That's the PowerPoint takeaway at any rate.
So why the sudden bout of melancholy?
Two words....
Pumpkin Loaf.
Actually, it's more than Pumpkin Loaf.
It's always more than Pumpkin Loaf, right?
It's... everything.
No sooner had I posted about the lack of work, than I received a project from an infrequent but local client...
"My Daughter is having a fundraiser... she's eleven... she's selling Christmas treats and... SHE HAS TO WIN! SHE HAS TO FUCKING WIN!!! AT ALL COSTS! IT IS CRITICAL! MAKE IT WORK!"
Well, that's fun. She's a pathological liar. Trust me, I know.
And obviously it's genetic.
Ultimately, I had no choice. I did it. I'm not proud. I designed a completely deceptive ad campaign for a pre-teen con artist. Selling probably tainted home-schooled food. I'm probably legally culpable now.
I showered twice afterword, if that counts.
Looking on the positive, as a professional designer, how often do you get a chance to typeset "SNICKERDOODLE"?
Not fucking often, let me tell you.
…I want to kill myself.
