Dear work,
Scheduling me for only one shift in a week does not give you the fucking right to assume that since I have days off now that I will come in at a drop of the hat for you, when I expressly told you when you hired me I was looking for stable hours. Stable has been the last three weeks, but now it’s just not. You are not my priority. There is literally a mountain of other things that have far more priority to me. Like getting my fucking pilot moving along and taking my meetings when I need to. Like school. Like my half-marathons that keep me somewhat sane. My friends. Literally anything else, because unlike a lot of the sad people there. I don’t want a career in retail, I have my eyes set on a much loftier goal that as insane as it may seem might be a fucking reality soon. I work because I need money to fund my novelties in life like lunch with my friends, my nice wardrobe that I buy all at better outlet stores then the shit hole I work at, my disneyland addiction, my disney doll addiction, my rundisney addiction, my sewing costume hobby.
So please don’t mistake my bizarrely cheery polite attitude that I reserve solely for customers and important people like network and production company people for some strange way that I am some moron with half an iq point for an intelligence level and see this as a career move, because I don’t. I never will resign myself to the terrible fate. The only career move I intend to make is that as fucking television series creator and writer.
