Notes from the Post-it Wall — Week of February 11, 2018
• Every time I meet with a recruiter, I feel as if they’re sizing me up for how they can best exploit my talent for their financial gain. The next time I meet with one, I’m going to blast out a sonic-rattling fart then let its heat and stench consume the oxygen in the room before breaking the tension with, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.