There once was a Millennial girl. She worked real hard, got good grades, and went out into the world. Every deadline, every good deed she sought–done.
That is, until the Waylayers came.
They came, armed and ready with their excuses, surrounding her at every turn: “I need more time!” and “I didn’t know I needed do that!” hung from their every orifice, the words bitter and broken, trailing over their lips.
Deadlines passed, expectations rose, foolishness ensued. And still, the little Millennial girl–branded by these Waylayers and naysayers as part of a lazy, decrepit generation–continued to see them disrupt, hem and haw, and delay progress. Fires broke out; chaos ensued. And still the little Millennial girl turned in her work on time, working dutifully at her desk, surrounded by the fires of Waylayers who burned it all to the ground. All efforts, ash, dust and must.
Until one day, the little Millennial girl stood up from her desk and leaned to crack her back. She took up her keyboard, broke it in two over her knee, and calmly picked up her purse and notebooks after tightening the bow around her ponytail. She said:
“That’s enough of this crap; I’m off to be a writer.”
And that was all she wrote.