A week before my vacation and it already feels like it’s over. I’m grateful for what I have, but mostly because it took me so much time and effort to get here. Years of minimum wage, or just over, bullshit jobs. Always telling myself that one day it would get better. It felt like a lie, but it did. Today I’m lucky to wake up before one and work with a team that barely communicates and definitely doesn’t share the same set of standards. I work all week just the have the weekend worker fuck it all up. Even so, they’re still one of the better ones because the company is too big to have any consistency. I’m gonna get through my shit. I’ve been doing it for years. I wish I could say I wasn’t trying to prove anyone wrong or build myself into an obvious “fuck you” to all my former friends. There’s so much more important shit to do than prove to my shitty teacher and his bigot friends they have no real value. There’s a way where we all win. I still believe that. But the work is long and it makes me depressed. It’s like my body runs out of the chemical it needs to hold my attitude and I just feel hollowed out. This is what success feels like.