Angel Number

So today, while being a terrible person and looking at Facebook on my phone instead of better things, I saw Misha Collins post about “Angel Numbers” — cause yesterday was Twos-day. 2/22/22 (in American notation). So he posted a number to text for your angel. Well, im in a funk so I texted it.

“Hello Angel Number, I’m very depressed and worried about my job and lack of contributions, knowledge, and motivation. I think I’m not good enough to do it and I don’t have that drive to dive i and figure it out. And the upcoming court mediation Friday is gonna be a cluster fuck. If I get the max, I won’t recoup 10% of my losses and they’re no offering the max even. C’est la vie.”

Then it asked me if I was a Russian bot and I kept texting cause I got shit to say.

“I am, in fact, not a Russian bot. Just a down in the dumps software engineer. I feel so screwed. I had a car accident that caused me to miss almost a year of work so I lost the job I liked and about 80k. When I got the OK to go back to work, I got put on a shitty contract. I hated it so I left for this job in November. But now I feel woefully unqualified and my depressive instinct is to shut down rather that pick up the reigns. Now we’re finally trying to settle with insurance over 2 years later and they’re offering 7k. No, thats not a typo. They’re offering 10% of my missed wages. AND I have to pay back for medical care, disability benefits, taxes, and of course the lawyer get 40%. I’m getting fucked!”

“I wish I could focus on the good stuff in my life. I’m finally getting plastic surgery to spiff up after massive weight loss. The second surgery is set for March 15th. I wish my mom could see! But oh yeah, she died of COVID before there was a vaccine. “

“I miss my momma and I hate my job. I’m crying to a text number dammit.”

“Mustn’t cry during work hours. At least I finally got my super sweet goomba tattoo.”

“Oh and no worries, I’m not a suicide risk. I have a psychiatrist and I take Valium PLUS 3, yes 3 antidepressants. And I have an awesome husband and cat. Oh yeah, the cats in stage 3 kidney failure with a heart murmur. When the cat goes, I’m gonna lose it.”

“I hope I can get his tattoo before he dies. He’s like my little familiar soul cat, At one my, my soul reason to live was that cat. He kept me going. I want his portrait.”

“Look at my handsome Jack!”

“I want Megan Massacre in New York to do it but she’s crazy famous and I’m in Alabama. My next choice is Devon Greig who did this sweet goomba on me. “

“*sigh* Thanks for listening, Angel Number.”