It’s almost 11:00 am on a Thursday. Cherrie hasn’t gotten out of bed yet. Well, that’s not strictly true. She got up and peed but then jumped right back in the covers to hide. She could tell she smelled bad. And her hair made her feel like she was the fourteenth member of OPEC.
Fuck.
How could she get laid off? How? Like, she knew she wasn’t actually important to the company, but she didn’t really think anyone was. As far as she could tell, that entire company was a giant bullshit job picking up other companies’ shredded papers and then burning them offsite near Palm Springs. Like, what? Can’t these idiots burn their own shredded paper? You’d think these technology companies would give enough of a shit about their own proprietary to make sure the job got done proper. But if you can find an economical niche, then, sure, the job’s necessary. But alas, it turns out the burning of the shredded proprietary information is necessary, but cold-calling companies asking for the service was not.
Cherrie groaned. Fuck it. It’s uptime. She threw off the covers and jumped out of bed. Too fast. Woozy. Okay, better. Good. Breakfast then Linkedin.
Cherrie spooned and slurped her Honey Nut when the Army ad popped up. Be the Best You Can Be. Fat fucking chance Uncle Sam. She’d just read that article about Ukraine being the new WWI, amputee-wise. Oh, hell no. And plus, was she too old? Is 26 and three-quarters too old to join the Army?
Type type type.
Oh, thank Jesus Fuckin’ Christ. The age limit is 35.
Cherrie went back to slurp up more Honey Nu—God damn it! It was soggy. Can this day get any worse? She deserved a treat, right? Instinctively, she glanced at the drawer next to her bed. No. No. It was too early for that. She hadn’t earned it. First some job applications and then maybe.
Scrolling through LinkedIn somehow turned into scrolling through Hinge. No. Yes. Yes. No. No. Fuck no. Yes, please. No. How many people had she swiped on in her four years of dating? Oh my god. Cherrie asked what the real-life chances of being alone for the rest of her life were. It seemed like everyone else from high school and college was engaged or married. Nobody was just dating casually. Except her.
Maybe she’ll just go back to bed. It’s—uh, what do they call it—a little mental health break for having a tough week.