I'm just too busy working towards my liquidation point.
No, this is not a new and clever form of self-destructive behavior. If I want to make myself cry, I can always watch Big Fish and then call my dad. If I want to make myself sick, I'll have Gobstoppers, Twizzlers and beer.
I'm trying to run down the clock on my temping contract. My agency calls this my "liquidation point." Which sort of sounds like I'm being chopped up and sold for parts. Or that I'm some sort of sentient Circuit City. But it really means that when I hit a certain number of hours, I switch over from temp to salaried.
Anyhow, that's where I've been. In the land of productive employment, which is getting pretty lonely. In case you've been wondering. See you soon, once the dust settles and I've finished my stash of emergency stress-ball Gobstoppers.
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8 comments:
Fingers crossed for your liquidation!
Liquidate, baby, liquidate.
My liquidation point is the moment I have to tell her "here it comes."
My liquidation point involves fancy-assed martoonis.
Whatever you're doing, we're rooting for ya!
Good Luck!
As of Monday, March 2nd, consider yourself liquefied. And your organs harvested mwahaha
Thanks all...and especially thanks to Brett! Who will make a killing selling off my retinas.
I love that term "liquidation point"! i shall use it heavily in the future.
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