Hello 2007
Papa John's is vasting my life, friends.... I work so much that I don't have time to fuck or write or create -- nothing. How boring and useless is my life when I spend ten minutes on the phone with someone who wants to argue with me about why I won't sell them a split order of barbecue and buffalo wings? Utterly. And how about the man across the
( Read more... )
I just had a similar experience. With the exception of today, and all the single hour I've been at work, this has been the shittest work week in recent history. I got a telephone call from our main branch telling me I had to re-enter all of the files since January, i.e. the most bullshit waste of time compliance fuckall that I've ever had to do. Last week my boss flew to the Bahamas where no one could reach him totally unannounced, and while he was rubbing elbows with Jeremy Piven in a casino I was having to lie to irate rednecks about their mortgages.
Basically, I want out. More and more. I want to be a fucking teacher already. I think the facade of caring about being a functional, semi-whitecollar productive member of society is an illusion that doesn't fool me anymore. I just want to have zero financial responsibility (read: return to college) for a couple more years and undo all of the image-polishing I've done this year to pass myself off as "normal."
I love you, I totally feel you. Something tells me this is what all of 23 and henceforth feel like. Christ. I have got to do something. My life is a fucking nightly local news, it's a fucking floundering CBS sitcom. It has to stop.
What I'm trying to say is: Don't sell out. Come to my fucking birthday party. I love you, again, always.
Reply
Leave a comment