Beck sucks. but it wasn’t always like this.

I’m working on this copy-editing test for the Washington Post.
it’d be part-time. it makes no difference to me right now; I need a job.
this shit is hard, and that is no joke.  suddenly, it is 1 in the am, and I am tasked with writing a coherent headline that includes the word “Alzheimer’s” and doesn’t break a 30-character limit.
you know how fucking long “Alzheimer’s” is? say it out loud for emphasis. then count it. that’s 11 characters right there, if you’re counting the apostraphe. fuck you, apostraphe.
what else, let’s see. my lease runs out in … six weeks. it’s officially six weeks now, because it is 1 am and now Thursday. work at the newspaper is forever in its twilight (and soul-crushing, to boot). then, I got this application with the Post I am praying makes it to the next stage, and a job interview in the morning or on Friday for something in Indiana (thank you, Smith). and if all that takes a shit and dies, I think the nuclear option is rent a room for the summer and watch the Progress copy desk sink like the Titanic. and if that doesn’t work out, well. move to Costa Rica, teach English, and learn how to surf.
I’m gonna be 27 in 11 days. and I’m still doing this shit. jesus. anybody sick of me yet?

update, 2 am:

hed: Death displays Alzheimer’s perils
deck: Elderly sufferer found on Md. roadside

no, fuck you, apostraphe.