I do not know why I’m being a nostalgic mess today. But hey. Here it is. Blame the booze. Specifically a lovely Shiraz-Grenache blend, Yellow Tail. Classy. It’s in that mug.
Anywho. 2 years ago I was working at a nursing home and I actually loved where I worked but my job kind of sucked dick. Sweet people and loved ones and old people and grandchildren and nurses and sad days and smiles and hugs and realness. It was hard. The death was hard but it felt meaningful.
My boss (yo, LOGAN) sometimes jokes (appropriately) about our agency life, “we’re not curing cancer — chill.” We build your site, no one will die if we fuck up. You’ll be annoyed sure, but I mean … it’s marketing! Whenever I think of this, I think of my old job. And hospice. I still use this mug all the time. It’s actually the only mug I own … not a coffee drinker, only tea. And well, I’m no longer dealing with the realities of Alzheimer’s and hospice facilities every day and sometimes … as weird as it is … I miss that.
Maybe I’m drunk.
