Oh yeah...

The reason I miss my ukulele is because I don't have it with me. I'm at rehearsal for Kingly the 2 trying to focus on learning these lines. Obviously, I'm failing at that. And even if I DID have Ukulorelai with me, I probably wouldn't feel like strumming on it anyway.

WHAT AM I SAYING??

Seriously!

I'm not being a sad-sack. I'm being transparant and vulnerable!

I think I'm getting confused again...

I Miss My Oo-Koo-Lay-Lay

RATS!

I don't have good news to report. I'm really upset about that. I mean, it was one of those things where they've kinda penciled you in, you start getting excited about doing this role...

But then some other guy shows up and knocks it out of the park--at least THEY think so, anyhow. They send you the "Oh my gosh, we feel so bad telling you this!" e-mail and you reply back as sweetly as you can assuring them that there are no hard feelings and to have a great time doing the show you really kinda thought you were gonna do.

I guess it's good. A person wouldn't feel like he'd accomplished something if he were handed role after role on guilded platters. There have to be those nutty surprises to make sure you're really appreciating your situation.

HOWEVER!

I still got upset. I still felt like packing my bags and going home.

BUT!

Instead of deciding (once again) that the stresses of living in New York City compounded with the rejection one faces from the world of the off-off Broadway stage are impossible to bear, I clicked iRene the iPod over to the hap-hap-happiest of toe tap-tap-tapping ditties.

Perhaps I'd be in a more able mental state after a dose of glee-inducing hot jazz from the Roaring 20s.

STILL!

I'm awfully tired these days. For those of you who don't know, my older brother Forko is now DR. Forko. And he surprised everybody by deciding that Copenhagen was the place for him.

So instead of going to Houston like everybody thought he was going to do, he's going clear to the other side of planet earth.

Of course, this hasn't sat well with most of the Fork Fam, particularly Mammy Fork (Dr. Forko IS her firstborn, after all) and Grandmammy Fork (who thinks it won't be long before everyone leaves her all alone).

This and, well, Forko and Waffelle had helped out a lot with Grandmammy Fork. With them gone, who will be there to drive her to her doctor's appointments?

I can't help but feel as though it's my turn to...y'know.

Hold on--this is all rather hasty. I haven't even finished listening to these ragtime tunes.

I Love My Oo-Koo-Lay-Lay

That's the proper way to say it. Oo-Koo-Lay-Lay. Maybe it's more like Lehy-Lehy--a broader, more open vowel sound. But I know the Oo-Koo part is right.

Once again, work and creativity collide on the 42nd Floor. Here's your update:

NofriendoLand is my new turf for the summer months. The pay is crap but it's pretty enjoyable. What's not fun about selling video games to people? So what if I'm dining on crusts of bread and drinking water from the tap? I'm doing something I like, dangit.

(side note: the tap water in New York is actually the best in America. And really, it ought to be once you consider the steps that must be taken to make it drinkable. Guess it goes to show that nothing is completely irredeemable, not even the toxic sludge at the bottom of the Hudson)

The NofriendoLand managers even gave yours truly a free copy of "Pirates of the Confusabbean 3". In order to access the Dueling mini-games that they wanted to use for the big Pirates Event at the store last Saturday, you had to first beat the game. And that's exactly what I did.

While I was supposed to be working.

Mexican children would come up to me and say, "Meester, can I play?" and I'd say, "Beat it, you squirrely cupid from Constantinople! Can't you see I'm WORKING here?"

Seriously. Who has more fun than me?

Thing is, the game developers didn't put much thought into the game aside from "Hey, let's throw this on the shelf and hope people who like the movie buy this piece of junk!" Getting through the game was such a chore that rewarding me with my VERY OWN COPY seems almost...cruel.

It's like, I get the joke.

In other news, had a callback this evening. Hopefully I'll post some sort of good news within the next 24 hours.

And by good news, I mean BESIDES the fact that we're FINALLY (no really--FINALLY) done with the tablework for Kingly the 2.

THAT was painful.

See, we have a lot of Shakespeare nerds in the cast. You know the type. They can scan a line, tell you if the ending is feminine, what a dactyl is (I wanted to know if there was such a term as rannosaurus rex--nobody laughed)...

But the biggest grievance of all: They're REALLY into the history plays. They can tell you who's who, who did what, who Shakespeare paints as good in one play and evil in another, and most of all, which order they go in.

There's nothing nerdier in Shakespeare world than being into the history plays. That would be kinda like those odd people who enjoy talking about English nobles and monarchs before the time of Queen Elizabeth. Suh-NOOZE!

Y'know, I oughtta give them some credit. Maybe it's just not my bag. The world needs people who literally get giddy and giggly talking about Shakespeare's version of English history.

I'm not one of them.

Miss Piggy

Two things you'll never see in 21st century Shakespeare: A white guy playing a black (or green) dude and a woman who's not afraid to play her character as vulnerable and even a little bit weepy.

First rehearsal for Kingly the 2 was last night. We read through the play. My part--or parts--are a lot smaller than I thought, but I've got a couple of really nice monologues so that makes me happy.

The reason it makes me happy is because listening to these actors read reminds me of why I like doing Shakespeare.

Yes, YOU the actor know what you're saying. YOU have the script in front of you, etc. But lookit: The audience is going to need a little help. Let's face it, none of the people out in those folding chairs REALLY likes Shakespeare. It's something they endure because they think it's good for them--like medicine or a trip to the dentist.

It's high time actors realized their mission isn't to get on stage and act like they're better than the audience because they're doing SHAKESPEARE and you AREN'T. Their mission is to get the audience through the 3 hour production as painlessly as possible.

There is one thing...the one thing....the ONE thing....and I know I've mentioned this before....the ONE thing that really gets my goat in Shakespeare is....

Modern women.

There's this tendency with 21st century dames to make every Shakespeare female a shrew.

And Lawd, Lawd, Lawd. I wish they wouldn't.

I'm reminded of longtime 42nd Floorer A-Dub's performance as the confused, distressed wife in Comedy of Errors. It made so much sense. She was not only being true to the way Shakespeare wrote the character, but she was totally sympathetic. And funny and charming and all the things the character is supposed to be.

It was interesting.

I did Comedy a few years later at Everycity Shakespeare and the woman playing the wife played her as--guess what?--a shrew. And who wants to watch a crabby woman speaking in iambic pentameter for 2 1/2 hours?

I know I don't.

Winter's Tale was the same way. As Shakespeare wrote it, the gracious Queen is desperately, hopelessly confused but still very much in love with her nutty husband. But in our production, the actress played the Queen as being so angry and defensive you kind of thought, once Judge Hatchett brought out the surprise DNA test results that proved the child WAS the King's son, the Queen was going to drag the King's butt to divorce court.

The Queene in Kingly the 2 is supposed to be frightened, powerless, and ready to cry at the drop of a hat. Her kingdom is in tatters, her husband about to be captured and killed, and just about anybody could come up and lop off her head. Instead, she's playing it like Miss Piggy by way of the Queen of Hearts.

You don't have to play the character whiny and weepy all the way through...but just remember: sometimes it's in that perceived weakness that dignity and strength are made more evident. Raging against the tears and barking out orders to your ladies in waiting because things aren't going your way just makes you look like...Miss Piggy.

Wha-BAM!

"Do you have any other games that require you to get very active? My son doesn't get very much exercise and I really want him playing a game that will get him active."

"Honestly, ma'am, all I can recommend there is an outdoor playground."


I actually managed to say that without sounding snarky at all! I'm so proud of me! I'm really taking the servant approach this time around!


"Do you have a controller for feet?"

"Uhh...no."


Working at this store is great.

* * *

In other news, over the past three days I played through the entire "Pirates of the Confusabein'" movie tie-in video game (thrown together to make a quick buck off the movie) and though my arm is tired from all that controller-waggling, it was worth it. I can now tell you EVERYthing about the upcoming movie. I'm a walking Spoiler. At least until midnight tonight.


I had a dream the other night that I had been invited to Romney's house because I was good friends with one of his (many) sons. I don't even know what Romney looks like. All I know is he's Mormon. I started to discuss theology with him, then reason told me to switch gears and discuss Mormon church history if I hoped to make him see the light. Unfortunately, I woke up just before delivering the final blow.

But he was a really nice guy. Kinda simple in a warm, harmless sort of way. I'd vote for him.


Tonight we begin rehearsals for Kingly the 2. Better go buy a highlighter. No, that can't be it. Hiliter? Hilighter. No. Hy-lytor. Hy-tlor. Hitlor. Hitler. Holy crap!


Ooh! And I walk by the Scientology offices every day. There are always about three to five Church(tm) officials smoking and glugging coffee out front. I bet their theatan levels are through the ROOF! One wants to say something to them, but...what?

Busy

Welcome back to Busytown.

I started back at Nofriendoland yesterday. They summoned a select handful of us to return and do some part-time for the summer months. I had a lot of fun yesterday. It was pretty slow for the most part so I spent a good deal of the day playing games.

I know, I know. I totally suck. I work at a toy store and get paid to play video games all day long.

Well, it's not ALL fun and...you know.

Really, it IS important to know how to play the things, especially since, 9 times out of 10, you'll have a Clueless Mom (a new type!) bring her 2 year old to play "KillAr KarnAge 2" and be baffled when the tot stands in front of the TV holding the controller and looking around as if to say, "Whaddam I supposed to do with this?"

"Play the game honey! Play the game! Excuse me, sir? Could you show my infant how to play this game?"

"Certainly, ma'am. Okay little guy, first I'm gonna need you to take the controller OUT of your mouth."

My feet hurt. And whoo-boy was I tired last night.

Thursday we begin rehearsals for (oh. I have to come up with a fake name for this...) Shakespeare's Kingly the 2. (That'll work) It's not as popular as Kingly the 3, but this director is really excited because he feels this show can be used to make a number of--GET THIS!--anti-president, anti-religion statements!! How cutting-edge!

Naw. We'll see. I have about 8 small parts... I play almost ALL of the servants. I'm considering making them comic servants. Wouldn't that be fun?

And then there was the audition for the other show. It's pretty much a two person show that was written by one of the better actresses from Naked Druid Lesbians from Brooklyn. She's also playing one of the "two persons" and she really REALLY wanted me to audition. Seriously. I walked into the audition chambre and she lept up and started planting kisses all over me.

And as fun as Nofriendoland is, one can't help but think, "I could totally be making more money than this."

Oh! And I'm taking ukulele lessons in addition to the Auditioning for TV/Film workshop.

So things have become busy. I just wish they also became more lucrative.

And more hair. Y. (I've stopped having the flashbacks, but I AM still a tad miffed about THAT little misadventure)

Sweeny Todd

I learned something this morning.

Hair cutters, stylists, barbers...whatever you want to call 'em...

They do NOT want your hair to look good. They want it short, frayed, and nappy and they will do everything in their power to keep it that way. Because if your hair looks BAD, you'll have to keep going BACK to get them to make it look good again!

Case in point. I sort of felt like my hair was getting a little long. Nothing I couldn't handle, but maybe let's take an inch or two off the back.

MISTAKE NUMBER ONE:

I went with an internet recommendation.

MISTAKE NUMBER TWO:

I got a guy whose first language was not English.

MISTAKE NUMBER THREE:

I listened to other people.

MISTAKE NUMBER FOUR:

Once the reaping began, I didn't have the balls to stop it.

* * * *

I got to the salon. The little man smiles brightly at me and says in a coy manner, "Allo Forkee. Joo seet down. Make jorself comforble."

He washes my hair in the sink. Ahh. This is fine. A regular scalp massage. Water's a little warm for it to be good for the hair, but not too bad.

"How joo want me to cut?"

"Nothing much," I said. "It's the first time I've ever grown my hair out and I just need maybe a little bit off the back and just a basic clean up to get rid of split ends and what have you."

"Oh. Jokay. I know wha wee doo."

The shampooing done, the guy yanks my hair in his mitt, then PUUUULLS and TWIIIISTS and WRIIIINGS it out. My instinct was to say, "OW! What are you doing? Easy, buddy! It's hair, not adamantium! These hairs are more than a year old! They DO come out if you pull them like that!" but I bit my tongue.

Then he sat me in the chair and started combing it like some sort of...crazy comber, ripping through all the snags and tangles. Again, "OW! Geeze, dude! Don't you know hair is most fragile when wet? And when you tear through these knots like you're doing, you're doing a tremendous amount of damage to the ends which will be more apt to SPLIT!"

But again I said nothing.

He got to work. Suddenly he started shearing my locks with a hair-thinner.

Wait.

A HAIR THINNER?!?!

EXCUSE ME?!

"Joo have a lot of hcair. I joos theen eet a leetle beet."

I didn't know what to do. I kept thinking, "Fork, you've GOT to stop him. Tell him to stop! Do NOT let him THIN your hair!" But then another voice replied, "But I can't stop him NOW! It'll look WORSE! I dunno...maybe he knows what he's doing!"

(This sounds really stupid or whatever, but I'm really shaken and a little bit traumatized. Do you realize how long it takes for hair to GROW? Do you realize how much I WENT through to get it this length?)

He laughed and said, "Looka all the hcair I cut offa joo!" I looked down and gave a VERY weak laugh as I saw the PILES AND PILES of hair sitting at my feet.

I told him it MUST be able to be pulled back.

"Looka. I cut offa bou' a-three eenchiz. Is good, no?"

He left JUST enough that I can pull it back only if it's wet and if I comb it back until it hurts. Then I get a teeny sprig that I can tie back.

Then he said, "Joo like-a me to dry it for joo?"

That was when I almost lost it.

"ARE YOU NUTS?! Do you have ANY idea how bad that is for hair?! Are you TRYING to make me look bad?!"

And that's when I realized...

(insta-replay of all the hair faux pas the stylist committed in my 15 minutes in that chair of hairy horrors)

Yes. That's exactly what he's doing.

I remember reading on various websites in the research I did when I started growing my hair long that you MUST look at barbers as the enemy. Your friends will say, "You should get it cleaned up." Don't listen to them. Your Mom will say, "You should get it cut." Until you're ready to go short, don't listen to her. Don't listen to anybody.

Barbers and stylists may seem all nice and sweet on the outside, but inside, they want your hair short. They want it snagged. They want it popped. They want it ripped. Because that kind of hair is messy hair. And messy hair means you'll come back for more.

"This keepa joo good for two months!" said Guapo with a cheery grin. "Then joo come-a back a-see me!"

For two months? If I came back for another haircut in two months there wouldn't be anything LEFT!

I ran out of the stylist shoppe and went to the nearest dark window. I took my hair down and mussed it up a little bit.

He bobbed it.

He effing bobbed it.

I almost collapsed in utter disbelief. I could hear passers-by muttering. Some were pointing. Some laughing. Tourists took sneaky pictures with their cell phones. I ran to 10th avenue. Yes, I'll go to 10th. 10th avenue is quiet. Not many people there. I can get home without anybody seeing...THIS.

"Hey! Look! It's Thoroughly Modern Millie!"

I...I'm going to lie down for a little while. Yes. Lie down...

Don't trust people. People will hurt you. People will screw up your hair and make you look like somebody's kid sister. Whatever you do, don't trust anybody else. I mean it. People are just gonna screw you up. Don't listen to them. They're idiots.

Right now you're all thinking, "Oh my gosh, Fork has lost it."

That's because you can't see me.

Maybe Queen III's early-morning observation is right. Time to change the quote at the top of the blog.

Eerie...

A link to a Youtube video below.

Is it a metaphor for temptation or merely another way to sizzle off a few extra brain cells?

You tell me.

Happy Friday!

Mormons

Mormonism is FASCINATING!

I'd write more on the subject, but I have to get back to my books. Suffice to say, I think Joseph Smith may have been onto something!

I mean, he totally made it up. Yeah. That's what I meant to say.

*ahem*

Strikes Again

Our buddy Fred Phelps strikes again!

Honestly, part of me can't help but think it's all a terribly funny joke. The kind that I would make.

Isn't it funny...

Isn't it funny how a bunch of things in the late 90s-early 00s started with "e"?

e-mail

e-store

e-harmony

e-motion

We all know what happened then.

The e-market crashed and that was the end of e-commerce.

I'm glad we finally found a letter that really works... I!

Now THAT'S a letter we can all get excited about!

Lemonade Diet

Hey gang,

Not a lot going on these days. We finished the show, I'm still moderately depressed, and I'm doing a lot of research on Mormonism.

The show went really well. Again, you really can't beat an hour and ten minutes of downtime playing Nofriendo DS or reading about Joseph Smith backstage, coming out to deliver five lines, then stuffing your mouth full of chocolate chip cookies.

I'm still not sure what to do with myself, although my interest in ukulele lessons has been renewed thanks to the possibility of a nice, normal office job which will enable me to pay for lessons in Brooklyn. I can hear the tin-pan alley tunes drifting up the stairwell as I type this. Junga-junga-junga-junga-jung...

WAIT THE CRAP!

DID I JUST SAY NICE, NORMAL OFFICE JOB?!

Yes. I totally did.

I know I vowed I'd never go back to one of those, but as I'm not on a Lemonade Diet like my friend here, I need to be able to afford food.

It's not that I'm a sad-sack. It's that I'm so conflicted. On the one hand, if I'm going to work from 9-5, I'd like to be doing something I enjoy. That means moving (possibly back to Texas) and going back to school so I can get some other skills that will save me from losing my soul in the office tower. Also, for all his yowling, I really do miss Nelson (remember him?)

(I have this recurring dream in which Nelson makes the move to New York. Five minutes later he runs away. In one of the dreams, Queen III gave me her dog to look after. I lost him too.)

On the other hand, I'm in New York. My apartment is rent-stabilized. It's (a little) less than $2000 a month and three blocks from Times Square in Midtown Manhattan. With rent shooting up absolutely EVERYWHERE, I'm seeing more and more that this little nook is actually worth its weight in Gold Plates.

Everyone wants to live in New York. Who cares about the poop-strewn promenades? That...and I like my friends up here. And an actor works all his life to get to either New York or L.A. If they leave either of those cities, where else CAN they go?!

Maybe I SHOULD try the Lemonade Diet. They say it provides clarity of thought (along with clarity of bowels).

The NYC

I'm done with the four weeks of "temp work". I'm back to being a shiftless wand'rer on the streets of the NYC.

We also just finished the second of our three weekend run of that play I've been writing about. It's going really well. Honestly, it's my favorite show ever. It's an hour and fifteen minutes long. I sit backstage and play Pokémon for an hour and ten, then go onstage and deliver some closing exposition with two other guys and stuff my face with chocolate chip cookies.

Yep, you read that correctly. Another New York credit, this time on 42nd street, two blocks from the lights of Broadway. And all I do is say five lines and eat cookies at the end of the play. It doesn't get much better than that.

In fact, I've written a poem about it. It's been a while since I've written one of these, so excuse the dust.

Play o' mine,
Play o' mine,
Makin' me feel mighty fine.
It's not the best, but I'll not lie,
It beats a three piece suit and tie.
I sometimes think, "My life's a waste!"
As bankers leer and leave with haste
When I come knocking at their door,
Begging, "Please, one penny more!"
But worries all I cast aside
And try to just enjoy the ride.
This might be close as e'er I'll get
To Broadway's lights and all of it.
Pills and booze might mar my way
When I'm a star, but not today.
For now on cookies I will dine.
Play o' mine,
Sweet play o' mine.

:^|

For the sake of the folks who prefer my shorter posts (and really, who doesn't?!) here's a short one.

I think my brains are turning into mush.

I have to get up at 6am so I can do crunches, go to the gym, then hop on the subway and head to "temp work". However, after I've hit the sack at around 10 or so, my roommate comes home at 11, takes a shower at 12, and goes to sleep around 1.

Noisily.

He usually makes phone calls during all this.

I sleep with a pillow over my head.

As a result of getting 5 hours of sleep, once I get home from "temp work" (which typically involves me almost falling asleep in mid-pose) I spend my days lazing about. What else can I do? I'd like to say I do something productive with this time like work on a snazzy new poem or a play that will bring me moneyhappiness, but I don't. I usually just sort of...sleep. Maybe play a few video games. Then, if I'm really feeling charged up, I'll frump myself down in front of my computer and do an online Bible study.

And all because my roommate couldn't just be the freak quiet when he freakin' comes in at midnight. Yes! HE'S to blame!

Honestly, am I asking for too much here? I sort of think a roommate who understands that teflon pans do NOT need to be soaked overnight and who doesn't sing opera in the shower at 12:30am wouldn't be hard to find.

Who'm I kidding? Roommate could be worse. Much worse. I should thank my lucky stars.

So I sleep during the day.

Oh, and eat. I've taken to binge eating. Isn't that the saddest thing? It's a good thing the only thing I have food-wise in this apartment are a variety of fruits, whole grains, and non-fat cottage cheeses. I suppose I could do some real damage with the numerous jars of peanut butter I have hidden around the apartment like so many peanut butter jar-shaped Easter eggs, but that's why I hid them in the first place.

Once you get a mouthful of nonfat yogurt topped with all-natural granola...you just can't stop! Everything must be eaten!

All-natural dried apricots!

SNARF!

A cup of all-natural applesauce!

SCHLORP!

An all-natural peaunt butter and banana sandwich!

SMONCH!

A handful of all-natural strawberries!

SNACK!



I need a steak in the worst way.

Life Decisions

Those of you who have spoken to me lately know what a drag I am to talk to these days. I can't seem to stop talking about ME and worrying about MY problems and wondering what I'm going to do with my life.

Well, I've had it. From here on out, I'm going to shift my focus, something I should have done a long time ago. I'm only going to talk about you.

I feel like Job. I mean YOU feel like Job. Wait. YOU mean YOU feel like Job. Geeze. This is going to be harder than I thought. YOU thought.

Forget this!

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME!



PART ONE

The setting: Café Tomorrow. Me and Psycholofork are sitting at a table with cups of coffee.

Me: I like New York. I really do. The thing is, it's dang expensive. The other thing is, I've come to feel that I no longer want/need that fabled New York acting career that, till now, had been my sorta vague goal the past several years.

Psycholofork: Okay. That's very reasonable. Lots of people, once they've lived here and tasted a bit of what brought them here in the first place, decide that maybe the grass they thought was greener actually has a sign that says "Don't walk on the lawn" and you'll wind up being fined for stepping on it.

Me: That's very vivid.

Psycholofork: Yes. And it's true.

Me: I haven't stepped on grass since...October, I think.

Psycholofork: What about Central Park?

Me: You're not allowed on the grass.

Psycholofork: Shows you what I know. All right. Let's work with your statement about New York. What do you feel your choices are?

Me: That's the problem. I feel like I have a zillion choices and everyone's telling me to do one thing and not the other. And I'm starting to get worried that instead of making a decision, I'm going to sit here and wait for the decision to make itself.

Psycholofork: Interesting.

Me: Yeah. I could stay or go, I guess. I mean, in the end, one of those things is gonna happen, right?

Psycholofork: Exactly. This is very good. You're doing very well.

Me: Thanks.

Psycholofork: We can work with this. This is excellent. Now then, let's start with your "staying here" options, shall we?

Me: Okay.

Psycholofork: Let's say you stay in New York for another year. Tell me--imagine for me--how would that play out?

Me: I can see it going two ways.

(Fork enters wearing wrinkle-resistant kakhis and a polo shirt. He has a backpack over his shoulder)

Fork: Good morning, Barista Betty.

Betty: Good morning, Fork. The usual? Half-decaf?

Fork: That's right. Don't want to get addicted. (hands Betty a Café Tomorrow gift card)

Betty: Oh, that's a cute gift card. Where'd you get it?

Fork: From my mother. In Texas.

Betty: Oh, I love it. I collect them, you know.

Fork: Oh, that's cool. You can have this one when I'm done with it.

Betty: Oh thanks! That's so sweet. And here you go. Regular size half decaf with just a little room for non-fat milk. On your way to the office?

Fork: (jovial) Sure am! I'm ready to answer thousands of phone calls and shuffle piles of paper today! Look out world! Here I come!

Betty: That's so neat that you like what you do.

Fork: What do you do?

Betty: (sheepishly, self-effacing) I'm...an actress.

Fork: You are?

Betty: Yes.

Fork: Wow. That's--I used to be an actor.

Betty: Oh really?

Fork: Yeah. But I had to make rent. So... I sold my soul to corporate even though I swore I'd never do that again. (changing gears) But it's good. I mean, I love gadgets, y'know, like iPods and phones and stuff and those tend to be expensive, so... so it's good that I can get them.

Betty: Aw, but that's so sad that you don't get to act anymore. If I couldn't act again I'd just die.

Fork: Oh, I do. I just...don't. Much. I do some off-off Broadway things every now and then but... y'know.

Betty: But you came to New York to be an actor.

Fork: Yeah. I did.

Betty: Golly.

Fork: What?

Betty: That's the saddest thing I ever heard.


Me: How awful! I can't do that! I can't go legit! I can't go back to being an office admin! I already did it once and I swore I'd never go back! I'm 27! I have so much more to offer the world than to wrap myself up in another lame office environment!

Psycholofork: Now, now. Let's not lose our head. A panicked state can sometimes lead to rash decisions.

Me: (regaining composure) Yes. Yes.

Psycholofork: All right then. You mentioned things could go two ways. Let's examine the other way things could go.

Me: The other way I see things going is me staying on the path I'm already on.


To be continued...