get this guys

so my dad has witnessed my flailing around in the real world, and, having come of age in an era when a job should be more than a job, a career should be fulfilling, an income should be not just a means of feeding and sheltering oneself but a source of identity and meaning, he believes that i need to identify my dream and pursue it until it validates me with a supportive income.  now, being a person of the world and member of society, i know that this expectation of a job that provides meaning and fulfillment is hopeless. the world simply does not work that way any longer. i know this, because i read the news - the actual news, not that shit those waxy faced people seem to vomit up on television.

(this article particularly)

so i know that it's impossible to make money doing what you love. it's a privilege we simply don't have. i wish i'd turned 23 about fifteen years ago when there were like, careers, and people could pay for luxury and appreciated the arts, and felt that quality was worth money. i wish that was the case, but it isn't. this is why i stripped. thats an ideal job. i worked for about 16 hours a week and made at least two grand every week - leaving me plenty of time to spend all of that money doing whatever shit gave me meaning. i could decide on a new fulfilling, meaningful thing to do every week! now that was fantastic.
unfortunately, "stripper" in ohio just means "prostitute," so that's not really an option now.

luckily, my dad has decided to rescue me - a luxury every girl knows she will never outgrow. we met for lunch last night and he pitched me an idea. he will pay me two grand a month to write every day. i told him once that i read an author (i don't remember who) who said that anyone can write well, but first he has to write about a thousand pages of completely horrible, dreadful, worthless drivel and most people read their first 500 pages, realize it's bullshit, and decide they are not writers. however, by the time any person writes his thousand and first page, if he's not completely dumb, will have learned something and produce at least one perfectly beautiful sentence. and then that person will be a writer.

so i'm now trying to get through the next 700 pages of terrible writing. many of them will appear here, and i apologize for that. ill try to label them so you won't have to sift through my shit. but i will be paid for producing them, so go ahead and try to ponder the reality of my day-to-day life.