Marriage is between two people. Just like reading. If you read other magazines, you’re cheating on me.

There’s not much to this article, I’m just meeting a quota. I realized my boss, Randy, doesn’t actually read the articles I submit.

Plus, with recent cuts we don’t even have an editing team. It’s chaos in the office and I can get away with basically anything. I know I’m going to mess up eventually, and I’ll be out on the street.

But for now I’m just gonna coast and have fun. I’m not going to do any actual work (if you even can call journalism “actual work.”)

I wanted to be an engineer, I had dreams. I studied for years. I just needed money, I didn’t want this to become a career. Now look at me. Mortgage, wife I can’t stand the sight of. Three kids. I sometimes think about coming out as gay to her. Not that I am, mind you, just to end things without any pain. I look at my kids and I don’t see myself in them. I don’t know who they are. I spent so much time away I doubt I even was the one to sire them.

Screw it. I’m showing Randy this article. I’m showing my wife, Debbie, too. I’ll email them it from my phone while I stand on the roof and take one last look at the sunset.

This world is so different from what I thought it would be. I’m tired of all of it. Good bye.