No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-09-19 - 3:48 p.m.

everything was fine until i got out of bed

i just feel tired today. i don't know what it is with me today, but i just feel tired. somehow i'm feeling paralyzed today. i don't want to *do* anything. i wish i could have a day off. i want like hell to call in sick tomorrow, but i know i shouldn't. i have things going on every night this week, and i'm behind on updating BigSis' site, and i know that will take up a bunch of my weekend, and i just want a little break from everything right now.

and EchoGirl still hasn't called back, and i don't even know if she got any of my messages, or not and she. hasn't. called.

and all my good and warm and fuzzy and happy feelings are slipping, slipping, and SmogMonkey is out of his cage, and he's smoking his cigars and drinking vodka, and sitting at the computer working on his new techno-rave version of the "Alone, alone, you're gonna die alone" song to be unveiled when (not if, never if with SmogMonkey) she *does* call back and tells me to go to hell.

and the people here at the office are freaks. freaks. freaks, i tell you. nothing is sacred, and nothing is above reproach. and i know that jokes are part of our culture here, but today i just want to pimp-slap them all into the ground because i'm. not. ready. to laugh. not about that. not about that for a good long while yet. and the fact that they. are laughing. about that. makes me think that they're a bunch of heartless fucking bastards, and i don't want to be here. i don't want to be associated with that. or them. at all.

and she *still* hasn't called back. and i just want to go home and go to bed. and not leave.

for days.

is that so wrong?

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