Ok...enough is enough. No more depressing existential blogs. At least, not for the next hour. I don't want anyone to worry anymore. Well, no, that's not true. My secret wish is that someone think about me 24/7...but said mysterious person won't need to worry because I have a J.O.B.

I have been gainfully employed for almost two weeks. Not a lot has changed in the work force since last dropped in, except maybe the iPad, and a greater sense of impermanence. But, generally speaking, the same question plagues me each morning when I wake up that plagued me a year ago. Namely, what to wear?! This question, as far as I can tell, has never been appropriately answered since women started killing their own game.

Do I look casual slutty or business slutty? Do I look more like a man or less like a man? Because, let's face it, there is no such thing as women's work clothes. There are two choices: hide my body (and feel like I'm betraying my ovaries), or show my body (and feel like I'm setting back women's rights). Let's face it. Men don't listen to the ideas that come out of a body that could possibly possess some flesh around the chest. Yes, even man boobs are distracting.

Just for today, I can join the work force.