I get an alert on my phone...
...I look at the phone, hoping to see an email with a download link. But alas, it's a junk email from 7 Eleven wanting me to buy more hot dogs. I sit in bed, waiting for the moment to arrive where I can begin my journey into baseball math and forget for a moment that life is awful.
That email never comes. But I will still sit here, hoping for a better future, one that has OOTP 22 in it instead of a job that literally makes me want to throw up every morning. And by literally, I mean literally. Not the fake "literally that thing happened" when it wasn't literal. Every morning, I wake up, and the stress of the knowledge that I have to go into that place in an hour makes the stomach acid boil and I'm left wondering whether I can bend down to rinse my mouth after brushing my teeth without hurling up something into my nose.
One day.
Last edited by johnnybawlz; 03-23-2021 at 12:12 PM.
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