I am unemployable.

Well, in the professional world. A leopard wearing high heels, runs in her stockings.

I already knew I, alcoholic dilettante scatterbrained lateblooming sometimepoet, wouldn't get the job.

At least I got my arms. I can paint a house & hold up a tray of dishes. They've gotten very strong in the last year or so.

And I've got stories. Lots of 'em. Of houses & cities & people & situations I'd have never known if I had gone straight & narrow like my parents wanted for me to be.




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