Gomez lives off generational wealth and thus spends his time culturing himself with dance, art, and seductive languages.
I work until it’s not safe to drive home because I’m so tired and my eyes don’t work. I crawl home on surface streets, collapse into bed for a brief nap, and get up to go do it again because the man needs his dollar.
My spirit may be willing, but my flesh is spongy and bruised.
How much time to put a little product in your hair?
How hard is it to listen to a language lesson instead of that song you’ve heard a million times?
Get some nice collared shirts instead of fanboy T-shirts?
Watch one how to dance video?
Product - use daily
Language - speak English, Spanish, and Korean, though the latter two are admittedly falling off from lack of use. Lived overseas for four years in my twenties
Collared shirts - wear daily, but I’d guess that’s not goth chick bait
Dancing - was religiously prohibited from such growing up and never took an interest in it
Personal skill - I can cook like a motherfucker. Like really good stuff. If I believed in love languages, mine would be feeding others. The women in my office make weekly requests for me to cook whatever they’re craving over the weekend and bring it in on Monday.
But I’m talking about energy. Gomez spends his entire existence striving toward being Morticia’s everything. I don’t have enough gas in the tank after seventy or eighty hours of getting yelled at for my income.
Next up, since everything is so easy, I guess I just simply waltz into another job, right?
