And Fifty Percent Of The Time The Job Isn't Even Fucking Real

And fifty percent of the time the job isn't even fucking real

And the ones that are still had their job descriptions written by fucking AI

I hate job hunting because every time I open a description for a job the first five paragraphs are always meaningless “Scrimblo Industries is committed to synthesizing a dynamic approach to diversity and learning from–” drivel, and then at the bottom they tell you they will pay you in grass clippings and you STILL don’t know what the job is about

Me: I changed my mind. I'm not making Agamemnon my middle name.

Me: I'm going with Archaeopteryx instead

My husband: (puts his face in his hands)

My husband: (picks up his phone and sends the following)

Am I the only person who hates editing first drafts more than any other part of writing?

I'm 80% done with editing the first draft of this novel and I'm honestly, genuinely in hell. Forcing myself to finish feels like peeling my skin off.

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

didn’t you have a whole thing about Clark’s parents you were writing as well? did I make that up?

"Focus, Jor-El," Lara said, the thought chiding as she nudged him with her elbow.

"I swear there's something over there," he said with frustrated curiosity, though he put the bot back on course. Flickers of thought about strange structures, ancient ruins. He had the thought that he'd be able to see better if the bot were higher, if it had been carried by something they could have launched into the air, fire and noise. She nudged him again because he hadn't bothered keeping the thought from her.

"Stop looking for problems you can solve with rockets," she said, still not looking up from the screen. She loved her mate dearly, but this struck her as one of his moments, a blade in search of a throat. He feigned offense at the thought.

"Most problems can be solved with rockets," he insisted, with a distant thought about her parents that failed to coalesce into anything coherent. The shadow of a tasteless joke unmade.

"When I tire of the sky being above my head instead of on top of it, I'll let you know," she said. It was hard to make out any of what the bot was transmitting. She tried lowering her glasses to look past the tinted lenses, but this close to the surface was still too bright for her. She winced, sliding her glasses back up her nose.

"My poor perfect mate," Jor-El teased, "with her perfect eyes stuck in imperfect conditions."

"Contemplate emptiness," she shot back, and he laughed aloud.

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Tumblr Batman is the only Batman I enjoy

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