“What are you trying to do?” I ask myself. “Build a brand? Write a book? Be the most popular person on all of the networks? Are you looking to be a celebrity? Famous author? Artist? What is your end goal? Where do you see yourself in 20 years? Who do you want to be perceived as at your 20 year reunion? Can you honestly tell me that this is not a social media vacation? Can you honestly tell me that you are not addicted to the red dot of the lightning bolt? Can you honestly tell me that you have any long term goals? Please tell me if I’m married to a suicide. Please tell me if I’m on track for tragedy. Will you at least love me after you have exhausted all of my resources? Can you tell me you are anything other than weak?”

“I can tell you one thing,” I say “its a lot cooler out here than I was expecting, and I’ve got to get this laundry dropped off before it rips my shoulder muscles out and crooks my neck beyond the bounds of life.”

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