This must be a dream job, since I keep falling asleep in my cube. Everyday I expect to get laid-off. Do nothing all day. Every day. Last week they gave me a key to the office, so I guess I'll be here awhile. I shouldn't complain so much- the money is much-needed.
Fuck it. Gonna complain anyway.
Yahoo-apeshit stir-crazy gotta do something or head explodes kinda complaining. Rant and rave until I can feel the veins in my temples throb and pound with every heartbeat complaining. Amazingly, I can do this in complete silence.
Need more than a paycheck. I need to make things. Creative all weekend, now stuck here watching the clock. Maybe hiding the taskbar will help. Nope. Another cup of coffee? Nope.
Nuffin' works. I sure don't.
Despite my protestations to the contrary, I'm pretty good at just about everything- I just really suck at nothing. Nothing is 40 hours of every week.
I'm so out of touch with everything and everyone that the sound of my own voice startles me. Am I talking to myself or to someone else? Who would notice?
Typed a lot this weekend. A right jolly time , it was. Yelled into a microphone and bounced all over my apartment with various guitars attached. (Gotta get a wireless system)
These are the good things. Must remember the good things while I sit in my damncube. Must remember to buy a phone-card on the way home. There's a phone call I want to make. That's another good thing.
God knows, I could use someone to talk to. My last attempt at conversation was depressing. Nah, it was more like humiliating. I've never had a bad time eating ribs before, but it happened. Usually I have to do something stupid before I get insulted-I think my big mistake was asking, "could you pass the slaw ,please?" I'll probably never know. I probably shouldn't even care, but I do. Don't ask me why. I ask myself that all the time and I'm still waiting for a reply.
I'm a fucking fly on the wall of life and some bloody bastard child has pulled my wings off.