Getting a new job. I don't want it. Didn't ask for it. But I'm getting it. I don't want my old job either. I don't want any job. Don't want to have to be a vague pussy about what's going on to you, the reader. In order to make money. You lie but everyone gets it. You gotta eat.
Money is the devil. Rich people worship and feed Satan.
Nothing bad can happen. I can leave any time. Only afraid of my own pusillanimity. Of getting sucked in to a lifetime of office work. Which is what's happened so far.
Nothing bad can happen. If it sucks I leave. But I know I won't. Unmanly small testicle pussy. Eager like a bitch in heat over deferred money that will never appear. Fake Satanic dreams of house down payments if we meet quarterly goals and there's a liquidation event. And the bank makes their multiple. And the first PE firm makes their multiple. And the second PE firm makes their multiple. And the Class A Preferred shareholders make their multiple. And the Class A common shareholders make their multiple. And surely after this reverse chessboard wheat problem, one half times one half times one half, the eye popping number I was shown once on a Powerpoint slide, that could come to me in as little as a year and a half, six years ago- surely I'll collect. Any day now. Surely there won't be some new contingency. That you have to roll it over. That it'll pay out in the next liquidation. In a year and a half. The next Powerpoint from the next PE firm, etc. etc. etc.
Surely financiers routinely do this. Pay their revenue driving slaves enough to quit. Any day now. Open a box on the doorstep. Lift up my fresh Phyrygian cap.
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