Six hours of work yawn before me like a chasm on the second leg of your journey, seperating me from home. On the first leg of your journey, the sun is rising brightly, birds are singing, and you are well-rested (if a bit anxious) and full of energy. But on the way home from your destination, every step is taken with leaden foot. You are drained, and the light of day is fading. Progress is difficult. And then you come to this chasm.
Going to work is like that, only there is no first leg. It's all chasm, and I want to go home.
Fuck gaining weight. Fuck D.I.Y. twisted pair cabling. Fuck people for never listening to me. Fuck my mom for being people. Fuck me for letting things get to me because for years, I didn't, and now I'm overcompensating because I'm worried I'll never get undepressed. Fuck me for forgetting I was a depressive, too.
I feel better now.
Yeah, I'll call a shrink. Umm... next week. Or after I have a car and can actually go to appointments. Or never.
I want things, sometimes. I want to care. I want to leave you with no legal recourse. I want canned beverages. I want huge, pointy teeth, sometimes.