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- Ya know, gorgeous, if you wanted to give me one of your lovely hickey, you could have just asked -

....

I chewed on his tiddies. Sowwy.

And I still don't feel comfortable drawing his stupid cute face. Coddammit.

I also made one version with body hair, but i wasn't quite sure...also, I'm kinda happy with the colors, but proportions are a little less...chubby. I'll make him softer next time.

bloodsucker.

Then it was “major in STEM”

Then it was “one year experience”

Then it was “three years experience”

Then it was “three years of DIRECTLY RELATED experience”

Then it was five years of DIRECTLY RELATED experience"

Now, if you didn’t practically invent the technology a company uses, you’ve got no shot.

“but I started in the mailr..”

My dad worked for the federal government after he and Mom both got their Master’s degrees. Mom had all three of us and stayed home with us full-time. We lived in a 3 bedroom house in the suburbs and when my brother was a baby, my mom started going back to school at night. I remember pretty clearly my dad heating up the breast milk from the freezer for Jake’s dinner because Mom was at classes.

In 1988, my mom finished her Ph.D. in mathematics. So, to be clear, my dad’s job – just a rando mid-level federal job – covered food and clothes for 3 kids, the mortgage, the bills, and Mom’s college expenses. We were broke as hell when I was young – Mom made our clothes, grew food in the backyard, and did everything she could to stretch every dime – but at the end of it, Mom got her job as a college professor, got tenure (almost impossible today), and did it without piles and piles of inescapable college debt. We moved to Northeast PA, they bought their house, which was 4 years old when we bought it, for about ¼ of what it’s worth today.

When I had @mistresskabooms 23 years ago, we were able to rent a townhouse & cover our expenses so that I could stay home, and on what? MK’s dad tending bar and both of us working at the Renaissance Faire in season. I was able to stay home and take care of MK for the first three years of her life, which means she got the advantages of spending a lot of time with her parents, she got to be breastfed (which is better for kids immune systems if possible, and kids who are in daycare tend to stop breastfeeding sooner), she wasn’t exposed to tons of germs from being in daycare, etc. Now, for part of that time we had our partner living with us, but not the whole time – some of it we did fully on our own. It’s next to impossible to do that now, if not fully impossible, for a family to survive like that.

Even ten years ago, it was possible, if difficult, for Emet to cover our mortgage and living expenses on a job that she got with a “some college” education when I had a tumor in my spine and was getting and recovering from surgery. There’s no way we could do that now with what mortgage processors make.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!