untitled grind

i wonder which i hate worse: being poor or working. we'll find out, i guess. i've applied to five jobs now so far this summer. it amazes me every now and then that i actually have gotten one and that i may get a second yet—better yet, that it is my avowed intent to do this very thing. i told elise—she from the upstairs, she of the mustache—this yesterday, albeit in french. who is this typing this blog? what has he done with the proverbial real me? who knows. i'm always being visited by the feeling, a few hours into a given shift: this isn't that bad. and then i get paid and that's a minor miracle. money money money. if i can actually get that second job i will wind up in a wholly new position: possessing money i don't have the time to spend. now that would be something.