Just so you know: It seems I have a job.
Talk about things falling into your lap – turns out our family dentist needed an office manager. So, for the first time in, what? – twelve years? I find myself working a 9 to 5. Actually, 8 to 6.
This is going to take some adjustment.
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Congratulations.
A job is good, there’s definite security and regularity here, and at least your outdated laser shielding–which cannot compete with mine–won’t be needed in a dentist’s office. Much.
Sweet! Now you can stop starving and write that symphony.
Congratulations. Might not be what you thought you’d be doing, but the money spends the same.
Now you can stop looking down in the mouth!
Must… restrain… FIST OF DEATH!
If you had a FIST OF DEATH why do you need a job?