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: another mood to suppress

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Vexing Latitude
*sigh. Life has taken over, and work gets worse. I believe the end of the job is Friday, but the doors may be locked Monday morning (later today). The only boss left has to crawl his way out to scrounge for ideas, and the money that's due for us few that remain. All of this is no good. Why can't I write for a living? And be my own boss?

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Trust me when I tell you this: Writing for a living is a poor man's game (especially right now), and you're at the mercy of editors.

You are the voice of reason in this life, my friend.

In my world, editors do not exist. Mwuhaha!

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