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My boyfriends call these positions A Great Opportunity, but they’re company men. They carry comedic mugs to their offices and leave them on their desks overnight, little pools of sludge staining the ceramic bottoms.
“Working remotely is what we call being dead. Pirate lingo.” “Oh sure! Like Davy Jones’s locker?” “No, no,” he says, exasperated. “That’s where we keep the office supplies.”
He reminds me of my caffeinated boyfriend, the one I date for suspense.
she suddenly hated the word potential, because it’s either wasted or lived up to
How can I ever become permanent if I don’t travel through some moral clouds?”
When I water my plant, I feel especially unqualified, because she’s always on the brink of death.
