(no subject)
Well, I am not making haste or could it be haste is making me
What’s time but a thing to kill or keep or buy or lose or
live in
I gotta go faster
Keep up the pace
Just to stay in the human race
I could go supersonic, the problem’s chronic
Tell me does life exist beyond it?
When I need to sate, I just accelerate
Into oblivion
Into oblivion yah yah yah yah yah ya-ah
Well here I go again, everything is alien
How does it feel to be outstripped by the pace of cultural
change?
My deeds are senseless and rendered meaningless
When measured in that vein
I could go supersonic, the problem’s chronic
Tell me does life exist beyond it?
When I need to sate, I just accelerate into oblivion
________________________________________________
Ummmmmm.... hello journal. How do I feel? I don't know. I'm feeling weird. I feel like I'm slipping into some sort of anti-social hermitism. Feeling uncomfortable in any social setting classifies, yes? It seems the only person I seem to hang out with is Rob. We're really good friends, and he's the only guy I don't get anxious around. In Jersey, at least. Well, my dad too; but that makes it two people against 9 million. I hate my job. The thought of just walking out is entertained every night. I can't stand working with food anymore. The patrons are pigs, the management is near-indifferent, and I'm just tired of cleaning up hardened sauces, black grease, spills, and raw chicken (salmonella, of course!) Food is for some, and not some others. I'm really good at it. If I had a damn dime for every time someone told me that I should continue this into culinary school, I wouldn't be worrying about this at all. I hate it at the same time. Ah well. Rob wants to apply at Target with me, and I'm going to. Overnight stock job, starts at 9.25 (quarter more what I get as grill monkey), and no food! (shudder) No stupid customers to deal with. Just pick this stuff up, put it over there. I'm sure it's more than that, but that's the premise. Yay.
(fingers crossed)
What’s time but a thing to kill or keep or buy or lose or
live in
I gotta go faster
Keep up the pace
Just to stay in the human race
I could go supersonic, the problem’s chronic
Tell me does life exist beyond it?
When I need to sate, I just accelerate
Into oblivion
Into oblivion yah yah yah yah yah ya-ah
Well here I go again, everything is alien
How does it feel to be outstripped by the pace of cultural
change?
My deeds are senseless and rendered meaningless
When measured in that vein
I could go supersonic, the problem’s chronic
Tell me does life exist beyond it?
When I need to sate, I just accelerate into oblivion
________________________________________________
Ummmmmm.... hello journal. How do I feel? I don't know. I'm feeling weird. I feel like I'm slipping into some sort of anti-social hermitism. Feeling uncomfortable in any social setting classifies, yes? It seems the only person I seem to hang out with is Rob. We're really good friends, and he's the only guy I don't get anxious around. In Jersey, at least. Well, my dad too; but that makes it two people against 9 million. I hate my job. The thought of just walking out is entertained every night. I can't stand working with food anymore. The patrons are pigs, the management is near-indifferent, and I'm just tired of cleaning up hardened sauces, black grease, spills, and raw chicken (salmonella, of course!) Food is for some, and not some others. I'm really good at it. If I had a damn dime for every time someone told me that I should continue this into culinary school, I wouldn't be worrying about this at all. I hate it at the same time. Ah well. Rob wants to apply at Target with me, and I'm going to. Overnight stock job, starts at 9.25 (quarter more what I get as grill monkey), and no food! (shudder) No stupid customers to deal with. Just pick this stuff up, put it over there. I'm sure it's more than that, but that's the premise. Yay.
(fingers crossed)