J.R. keeps insisting that I am not unemployed, and he's right: I am employed. Sometimes. Oh, the joys of freelance work. Take today, for instance: I finished a couple of different projects and the distant promise of payment took away some of the sting of Christmas shopping. (This year, I have the distinct non-pleasure of doing the majority of my shopping online. If I have to ship it anyway, it's cheaper to go via Amazon than FedEx. Since I'm already on a tangent, I'd like to point out that you're right, I do hate shopping at the mall. However, I do enjoy the sight of a big-ass pile of presents; I feel accomplished. And, to finish off this extremely lengthy sidebar, to top off the icky internetness of it all, I still have to wrap the damn things when I get to my sister's house -- hers may be the only present I don't actually ship to her house -- and I won't have the pleasure of delving into my carefully kept wrapping organizer.)
Bygones. After all that, I can't remember where I was going with this post, but I think I was going to say something along the lines of: I still prefer the promise of a steady paycheck to the pleasures of working in my pajamas. At noon.
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