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doce 18 May 2005 - 13:22 Twelve hours. Twelve fuckin' hours. Of working, with only two ten minute breakes all fuckin' day. God, I hate Depack. Wish he would fuckin' die. Fuck. And what's with all the fuck's, anyway? My eyes are puffy. I've only had about two decent meals in three days. Wait, that's two meals period. I lost three pounds since Monday. Whoop-de-doo, I guess I should be happy about that, but I never wanted a diet like this! I'm edgy, pissy, angry, violent; I feel cornered. Today work starts at two. Wouldn't suprise me if it ends at two in the morning. That motherfuckin' Depack... I wanna rip his head off, I swear. With my bare hands. Aaron looks tired, I feel tired. Yesterday we met the other guy who's to work with us, Art. He's alright, but I didn't really talk to him. Don't got no time, see? I need a knife. Damn. Well, there goes my stomach, lurching again, but this time, it ain't nerves. Estoy encabronado, that's what. I wanna rip something, tear something apart. I wanna kill someone. But instead, I'm gon' put on my Venom t-shirt and get my ass to work. |