I feel like I've gotten too big for my britches. I've been through too many bosses, carried the load on my own for too many years, that I simply can't stay here. Unless I take the directorship, I don't belong here. I'll never be content with a new fucknut for a boss, and a director will never be happy with a know-it-all bossy-pants for a subordinate.
It doesn't sound like you are happy there unless you are in charge. And that's a valid way to feel but it requires that you actually be in charge to work.
Linda Holmes is great. And Allie Brosh's stuff is the only thing that's ever felt remotely close to what depression is like.
That's a well thought out essay. I was just thinking earlier today how while I may never actually read Night of the Gun I appreciate knowing that exists, partially because it's such a great object lesson in the difference between How I Remember It and How It Was.
Apparently, my real problem with the jumbo muffin size is that I do not have nearly enough food storage containers that are appropriately sized to hold them comfortably. I'm regretting not impulse buying the cupcake carriers I saw at the grocery store.
Somewhat relatedly, I think I might be a bad person (sustainability-wise, anyway) because I have started using paper liners inside my silicone liners. These "muffins" do not have enough structurally integrity to make it on their own all naked and unprotected, and I can't be tying up precious silicone liners until the whole batch is eaten.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Burrell. It’s always sudden.
Peace be with you, Burrell.
I'm so sorry, Burrell. Much ~ma to you and your family.
I'm sorry, Burrell. Peace and strength to you and yours.
Oh Burrell, there are no words.
Oh, Burrell. I'm so sorry. Much love, peace and strength to you and your family.
