another crappy day…

another crappy day after the break…

another crappy day…

i always feel a little guilty whenever i have another crappy day because, somewhere else in the world, my crappy day would be downright paradise for someone else. i don’t have to deal with tribal ethnic tensions or live in a third world country or will have my home invaded by religious nutcases who suspect i don’t worship their deity as much as they do or violated some nitpicky religious law or anything like that.

all i had was a perfectly crappy day at work. no natural disasters or turf wars from drug gangs or hooligans or [fill in the regional slang term for generic bad guy here] or anything like that.

whenever i have a crappy day, the creativity just drains from me.

i hate my job.

i really, really… really hate my job.

i need to become a millionaire.



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