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& ur welcome.

fuck it. be a mess.


I started a new job recently. It’s unlike anything I’ve done before; lowkey and calm. I sat for six hours yesterday just staring at a screen and training. Honestly, I loved it. No distractions, no urgency, no emergencies, no immediate stress. Before, the ping of an email or message would make me twitch with anxiety. It still sometimes does. Sure it’s only been a day, but I have a feeling this is good for me.


The hard part is combating the self-talk that this is a disappointing choice of a job; that this doesn’t validate my education; that this is below my pedigree. Regardless, I am still making money. It’s not much, but it’s something. I’m chalking this internal dialogue to my confrontation with capitalism. I need to suffer in order to justify a dollar. I need to wince with every task. I need to excel beyond the standard to deserve an income, any income.


Deep down, I know this is not true. A job does not define me. However, it feels heavy as I struggle to alleviate these worries. After all I do, I am still left with the question: who’s voice is it? I hope that it’s my ancestors. I hope that it’s capitalism. I hope that it’s white supremacy. Any option I will accept, except my own. These cannot be mine. I know better. Only time will tell if I actually do.



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