I admit it, I'm a complainer. I know this because everyone (and I mean everyone) seems to know I'm currently having a hard go at life. I, of course, was to first to know this, but it doesn't fail to tickle my emotional validation bone when other people tell me how bad and how hard my life is. All it takes is for me to hear one one post-graduation nervous breakdown narrative and I am happy for at least 15 minutes. These tales of woe and rejection offer me proof that I am at least handling this better than some people. I am not the sorriest loser on the block, nor am I most lamentable. And this is good, especially when your self-esteem is shot and your will to work nonexistent.
Really though, to all those currently worried about my sanity, it is well intact, I can assure you. If you don't believe me, read the above paragraph. No one can retain that much sarcasm and dry wit when they're crazy. Jack Nicholson was, after all, the only sane person in Who Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And he was very funny. See what I mean?...
I am doing fine. I am at peace with the imminent move, though I don't yet have the answers to where I will be going or what I will be doing. I do know that I have crazy cool and good friends and family, and really what else does a person need? (very little sarcasm there, I swear...) OK, so I do kind of need a job. And money. Easy peesy, lemon squeezy. Right?
PS: Do I really need to explain the reference of my title? Look it up.