Today marks Day 1 of my exile.

They pulled their BS early, got on my bad side, and I ended up saying ”Are you fucking retarded?” —HAHA those little bitches, but honestly? I’m at peace. That kind of eerie, calm peace that shows up right after you’ve stopped giving a damn.

Let the place burn if it wants to. (Kidding… mostly.) I’m past caring about titles, politics, or who’s kissing whose backside this week. I gave that building years of my life, and somewhere along the way, the soul leaked out of it.

What’s wild is watching how today’s youth run things. Their priorities? PR, punctuality, and pretending to care. Back in my day, we didn’t worry about “branding” or “optics.” We worried about patients—real people, real health, real lives. We showed up, did the hard work, and left with pride, not hashtags.

Now it’s all about how fast you reply to an email or how perfectly your lanyard hangs.

Newsflash, kid: image doesn’t heal anyone.

But you know what? I’m good.

Because I know this exile isn’t punishment—it’s promotion prep. The next door’s already creaking open somewhere, and when it does, I’ll walk through it with calloused hands and clean conscience. Divine power’s steering the wheel now.

So yeah, today is Day 1 and the fire feels fine.

Stay Dirty. Stay Rebellious.™

— Saint Dirty Face