Destructive Love Is All I Am

As of today, I've been at SmallLaw a month. Wheeeee! For a guy who's making some pocket cash and leaving work at the latest by 7 p.m., I should be content. I should be like a leeeeeetle giddy girl going "tra la la, tra la la" while skipping through the fields. But yet, I feel like grabbing fate, putting it in a headlock, and giving it noogies while screaming "How you like me now, be-yotch! How you like me now!"

So, um, no, I'm not content.

I think a reason for my discontent is that this month has gone by rather quickly. So? Well, soon, it'll be two months, three, a year that has gone by, and if the rest of my time is spent doing the type of stuff I did in the past month, then boy is like gonna suck when I grow up. You know those flies you see in amber? Well, I feel like one of those primordial flies that have landed on some tree sap to rest and to feed, and then realizing that, my, this tree sap is rather sticky. Next thing you know, I'm being sold as a knick knack at the cheaper metropolitan natural science museums.

In a twisted way, this is making me think of getting back into BigLaw as soon as possible. I'm miserable now. I might as well be better fucking paid for it.