postmodern social realist novel depicting failed-striver semicon employee navigating kafkaesque bureaucracy, taylorism, labyrinthine fab; heaps of prose dedicated to soporific lighting, ill-fitting cleanroom suits, constant noise, rigid surfaces;
formally interesting asides to doomscrolling, linkedin lunacy, manic texts and tweets, soliloquies delivered solely via reddit threads and voice memos; romance utterly devoid of consummation or reciprocation;
green new deal but the jobs program is just sorting recycling because for some reason americans won’t do it themselves
not sure how I feel about the fact my ancestors (at least on my paternal grandma’s side) almost certainly evaded taxes
I would make a topsters or “my 9” grid again, but I’m finding it more difficult to assign greater personal significance to specific works I enjoyed, their emotional salience having blurred together
recruiter linkedin algo handed me a new job and the universe’s cat distribution system gave me a kitten, so where tf is cupid
engineer who’s training me at my new job: “you have a phd right?”
at this point I need to go back to school just to live up to the allegations
