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“Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn’t know it so it goes on flying anyway.”
Though patently false, I am the bumblebee, and flying? That’s journalism.
The high-stress, change-in-a-flash, perpetual-deadline type profession is generally not a suitable one for someone who requires 50 75 100 mg of SSRIs to get through the day.
It seems, however, no one had the heart the sit me down and say, “Look. Journalism? No dice. But basket-weaving? Do it up.”
Alas, here I am, living out my everloving dream, falling asleep to scanner chatter, and attempting wildly ambitious home improvement projects.

  How I Got Here  

gothere

 

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