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keeping secrets
Write short, concise chapters. After a few, it may turn into something.
Almost 32. This year has a theme. I gave this one a theme. It is very, very important that I stick to it, that I make this happen. Very soon now, I will be dead, and what fun will I be able to have then?
We had to get a new washing machine. So we got a brand new one. I am amazed at its technology. They put so much effort into making life convenient, but so little effort into making it BETTER.
My job. Today. If they could film it and play it back, no one would believe it wasn't staged. Vietnamese women in hysterics, crying. Carts pushed together like jigsaw puzzles, people getting crushed between them. Everyone covered in sweat with fire in their eyes. Everyone spitting curses at how much they hate their jobs. A stack of two-week notices on the boss's desk and a supervisor who almost walks out never to return.
I have never worked in a more depressing, degrading place than this. And that is saying a lot. I've quit better jobs than this.
Fuck.
That would be so incredibly perfect right about now.
8:28 PM - Sunday, Jul. 05, 2009
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