I am so dissatisfied with my life right now. I feel... I dunno, trapped. That's it. I feel trapped. And the fact that Zamira's leaving international should have me feeling a lot better, but I don't even feel that. I feel empty, and just a twingy bit sad. And fuck you, I know twingy's not a word, okay? So I made it up. FUCK OFF!

But no, I don't mean that. You see? It's just all this pressure that's building up inside me, bubbling, boiling, toiling and troubling. I feel like there's something wrong with me! And there probably is. I hate people at work. Just hate them. I hate Josh and the fact that he came back and that ridiculous little goatee he's trying to grow, and I hate Juan and his fuckin' busted nut and purple shades. And I hate ALEX and her fuckin' fat face and her lards always getting in my way when I'm trying to walk by that narrow fuckin' strip of shit I'm forced to work in, and I hate Zamira and her hollow, empty voice yakking, yakking, yakking about TV and her favorite shows and personal gossip and she just won't SHUT UP and I could kill the bitch, I swear I've dreamt I have, just slit her throat with a fuckin' box cutter. I'm even starting to hate Roy, and I'm barely getting to know the poor guy. My long nails yearn to dig into something soft and slimey like eyeballs, and just... gouging. I wanna gouge out eyeballs, don't care whose. Anyone who works within a five foot radius of me. EVERYONE. I hate my job, I can't believe it, I'm starting to hate my job. The crazy shit is that under normal circumstances, these people don't even do shit to me, they're just there. And they ignore me, which is what I claim to want, though inside I want them to say a word, ANY WORD, in my direction, so I can take that and pounce, and gouge out their eyeballs, stab them and cut them to bits with my invoices. That's right, papercut the fuckers to death. The only people who seem pleasant are the ones I don't work with, like Roberta and Cindy. Or Irene and Juan Vasquez. And Felix. All from departments far, far away. If I were to work with them ONE DAY, I'll bet I go bellistic on their asses, too.

Yesterday we had a Safety Committee meeting and I was accused of being "hostile." At first I was, like: "No way!" But now I've thought of it, I can see I most certainly was. And I'm not sorry. I was pissed off at all the bullcrap that goes on around here and so I exploded. On Turner, and Art, and whoever else the fuck was there. Can't really remember anymore.

It's late, I've gotta go home already. But seriously, I think I need help. That, or another job.

I don't wanna hate my job, I don't wanna! Really, this was my dream job two years ago. What went wrong?

"I don't play well with others, the thought occured it might be me..." - Until I Die by Neurosonic

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