Mike Jobs


I took a job. Like, a real-life, adult, full-time job. I haven’t had one of these things in seven years. What do you do, are you supposed to, like, wear a tie? Do I need to say “synergy” to people now?

I’ll still be working remotely, so the office romance might be more difficult to arrange. I may have to develop a crush on a barista. Or, work on some heavy-duty narcissism. But, like, narcissism that can tragically never be fulfilled. Like, I’m too shy to ask myself out. I just amuse myself by making jokes to myself about the other people in the office (also myself), while being the only one to really support my own artistic ambitions. Then, the whole thing will go on for eight more seasons, gradually declining in quality.

The downside, the worst downside, of this job, a copyediting position, is that I will be contractually obligated to not write for competing science news publications — including Scientific American and Discover, where I had made contacts in the last six months or so. I’ve learned not to promise regular blogging, because I’ve yet to keep that promise, but the loss of that outlet might just make it a necessity. I can write about science here. I’m pretty sure nobody considers EpicDarwin a competitor.

The upside, the best upside, of this job is that I can stop hustling and maybe even confidently sign a lease. Time to live without roommates? Might be nice. But, then again, living on my own while working remotely could be (even more) isolating, so — another reason to blog? Because, let’s face it, Facebook is a gaping maw of empty diversion.

Ok, so, see you at EpicDarwin.


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