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I have a Degree. You have a Goldfish.

I don't think I'm the only one in this shit-boat, desperately trying to use my foot to plug up the hole I kicked in the bottom. My degree would have kept me from drowning, but the paper is all wet. 

Most of you got your degrees in something worthwhile (MATHS), and even the ones that didn't have worthwhile degrees, ( HUMANITIES) had the common-sense and forethought to apply themselves and forge connections to get them nestled in the ruts of a lucrative career path.

Fuck you guys. I hate you guys.

I'm sending out cover letters, trying to spin a job with infants as a miracle propagated by my EXCEPTIONAL customer service skills, trying to pin pack the folds of incompetency riddling my resume, blatantly disregarding my sexual prowess, and smiling crooked at a vision of a polyester skirt tucking in a pearl-colored collared shirt.

And while prostitution is a tempting solution, I assume most whores are required to have a Masters and at least 3 years prior experience. Resumes without references will not be considered. 

While I may have been the sole architect of my situational failure, I prefer to blame The System, because I have to live with myself and self-hatred is a tedious and morose waste of time. 



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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…