We don’t drink.
We don’t drink.
I just saw a woman eating a soft serve ice cream cone at Stewart’s – outside! – like it’s August. She is living the fantasy. For real.
After spending three hours in my car today slogging through the snow, I decided to email my professional friend about the job at the Local Bakery. Maybe god is tryna tell me something? I told them that this is terrible timing. And I’m not sure if our needs align. But I invited them to call me to discuss if they would be interested in me. Do I want to change jobs right now? Nope. But I absolutely hate my commute. A drive that will continue to degrade and grow in length, as they work to tear the highway out of the city.