In this scenario, I’m the one-armed man


The government does not use fireworks on it’s official documents.

My federal disability status has been signed by a judge and my Medicare card is on its way. Today, I received an unsolicited email that contained an offer for my dream job in a career I am loathe to have abandoned:

We are in need of a Sr. Art Director who has experience managing a design team. Must have marketing firm or advertising agency experience. This role is contract to hire and is not the right role for someone currently working.

I have long said that Irony was both my worst enemy and my best friend.


This offer wants to walk hand-in-heavily-coincidental-hand with my receipt of the Notice of Decision, which discloses in detail what the judge writes, and what my doctors and the federal’s doctors had to say. It wasn’t pretty; I’m a mess.

So while I’m just hangin out, chillin… trying to accept an invisible cultural brand that now encompasses me… someone suddenly needs a Sr. Art Director? Jesus H. Biscuit.

I can’t even.

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