(no subject)
another nights of watching blank pages stay blank and nothing getting done. after 13 years you'd think the book would practically write itself. no need to point out the naivity of that statement i am fully aware. i can see the whole bloody story in my head like a DVD on eternal repeat, but at least for the time am unable to translate the pictures in my head into words on the page. So here i lay, another wasted night behind me, groing infinately older with nothing to show. my life's work as of yet unworked, and sick of playing the other pathetic games of smiling, nodding, and falling in line just to keep up this existence which has done little. it sometimes feels if all the significance i had has receded into the past and i can do no more. i fucking hate my job, not because i'm bad at it, or that my bosses hate me, neither of those are the case, i hate it because it is just another ridiculous distraction that keeps me from the work i have to do. jobs, all jobs, are bullshit, another insane offering from this place which tries with all its might to kill everyone who resides here. oh look, it's 1400 now, better snap to fucking attention, since the job can take all of my life at the point of a gun and gives me nothing save a meaningless paycheck and the feeling that i will never finish the only thing that makes me me. it's not this job's fault, pretty much all others would be just as useless, would be just as much in the way. i need a new plan, this one sucks. she needs to take her first breath, and no one, nothing must be permitted to stop her arrival.