One of my favorite poems is “The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock” by TS Eliot. It’s about getting older and despair, but it’s done in such a witty way that you have problems believing that it could be all that bad.

I feel like I’m starting to sound like Prufrock, not in detail but in essence. “Hm…let’s see how much cleverness I can put into this bitch session…”

De, it’s not that bad.

P.S. Final job updates by Tuesday. They promised.