I dunno how much more of this I can do. Every day at this job makes me pissed off. It ain't like it was, it's like it will be.
If my life was a circle, with me in the middle, with concentric circles surrounding me, red for bad and green for good, my circle would be almost entirely red, with a little bit of green at the center. But that little green circle would be polluted and brown, because the red is all up in it. And if the circles within the circle of me were labeled, the green/brown would be labeled 'I dunno, oxygen I guess' and the rest of it, the red, would be labeled 'that fucking job'.
This job ain't good for me, and that's the irony. I need the job, for something, I dunno what, I forgot, but I need it, but the job is leeching the life out of me, and FORCE FEEDING me bad stuff. It's like I'm tied down with a tube shoved down my throat, with this nasty slurry of physical nutrition mixed with a smidgen of poison going into my stomach, because my head is paralyzed.
The bad stuff is... is... is...
It's what monks go to the monastery to avoid. Stuff that pokes and prods at that papery thin barrier that protects the world from my big mouth, and me from the pokers and prodders.